To Burn the Horizon
by CourtJester
Summary: Reposted. On beginnings and endings, broken things, missing pieces, and how sometimes it's impossible to patch your life back together in the same shape it was before you started falling apart. FrostIron, eventually.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is a re-post. See below for explanation.

**"To Burn the Horizon"**

**Prologue: "Oh, why did we have to fire that gun?"**

_This isn't a fairy tale, but once upon a time..._

The truth is, life is nothing more than a series of beginnings and endings, so this particular tale begins and ends in the same place: a tower balcony, high above a breathing city, up in a place where on a clear day you can see for miles.

When it begins, when it really and truly begins, it will be in a war of words and a shattering of glass and a long freefall.

When it ends – and it _will_ end – it will be in a cloud of ash and earth and silence.

Ringing, resounding silence.

..._after a long, difficult battle, the brave prince defeated the monstrous dragon and rescued the maiden fair..._

And so, having at last slain Vanko and his army of drones, Tony Stark flies off into the night, Pepper Potts safely ensconced in his arms.

The suit's faceplate is shooting off sparks, a battle-casualty, so it kind of spoils the heroic effect he's going for, but with adrenaline-soaked victory spiking through his veins and with his chest no longer feeling like it has a ten-ton elephant standing on it, he really couldn't care less.

Tony guides his dying suit to a nearby rooftop and sticks a smooth, easy landing. He sets Pepper down and reaches up to swipe the hissing, sparking faceplate away.

His eyes are closed while he does this, so he doesn't see her move away.

She's well out of arm's reach when he lowers his hand, and he blinks at that because he thought she'd stay put. He expects to see her smiling at him, a little shaky, of course, but glad that he got her out of harm's way.

She's not smiling, though, not at all.

Instead, she's glaring, this mutinous, molten-hot stare that's equal parts exhaustion and rage and better-cover-your-balls-Tony-before-I-start-kicking. And, okay, those last two might be the same thing, but still.

Should have known better: this is no fairy tale.

Pepper isn't exactly a damsel in distress, and he isn't exactly a white knight, and whatever vaguely romantic notions he might have had about _that_ gets shot right the hell down the instant Pepper opens her mouth and yells, "I can't do this anymore!" Her fists are pressed to either side of her head like she has the mother of all migraines. "I can't, Tony! I can't stand here and watch you _do this_ to yourself! I never know if you're trying to kill yourself or-or if you're trying to wreck the company or what because you never talk to me like a normal human being!"

"Hey!" he protests, trying to salvage some dignity here because _for crying out loud_ he did just kind of save the day. "I think I did okay!"

She barrels on like she hadn't even heard him. "You know what? I'm not doing it anymore! I'm _done_. I quit! Effective immediately."

His head is still buzzing from the fight, so he can't tell if the poleaxed feeling is from _that_ or from Pepper's outburst. He doesn't even know what to say. All he he can do is just stand there, deer-in-headlights frozen, and watch her break apart.

Like everything else in his life.

Eventually, he summons up the courage to take a cautious step toward her. "Okay," he says as he does. "Hey. Okay. Slow down."

"_No_." She's a cat thrown into a barrel of cold water, all bristled-up and ready to claw at his face. That burning glare sears right through him. "I'm done."

"Yeah," he says, holdig up a hand. "Yeah, I got that. Just – listen to me, okay? Hear me out. Please?"

There's a long silence while she makes an obvious effort to calm herself down: she looks away, takes a couple of deep breaths, drops her hands so she can fold her arms over her chest. "Okay," she finally says. She doesn't look up. "All right. What?"

Funny thing, though, when he goes to reach for the words – any words – that might convince her to stay, he can't find them. Can't find anything at all, not even a coherent thought, so he just stands there like a landed fish, mouth working without a single sound coming out.

"I'm sorry" doesn't feel like it'll be enough, but everything else feels like it'll be too desperate.

Angry as she is, he doubts she'll believe him, anyway.

She's still not looking at him, and it occurs to him that he probably doesn't even the right to ask her for anything at this point. Is pretty sure of that fact, actually, because what has he ever really done _for_ her? All he's ever done is ask from her, demand from her, take from her.

All she has ever done is answer, offer, and give.

That's her job, though. Her _job_.

So maybe it's not so hard to figure out what he wants to tell her.

"Hey," he murmurs then. "Come on. Look at me." She does, and when he sees that her ire has cooled, he eases toward her. "You have done so much for me all these years," he says, "and don't think I don't appreciate it. I do. I always did. So – thank you. For everything." He takes a deep breath, then, and: "You should go."

She blinks. A frown clouds her eyes. "You...?" She swallows. "You're not even gonna ask?"

He shakes his head. "No. You need – you deserve – better than this. I don't want you to go, but I don't want you to stay, either." Which, okay, so that doesn't make sense. He waves it aside. "What I'm trying to say is you need to go. You need to find your own way. Have the life you deserve."

"You don't want me to stay?"

She's beautiful, her eyes wide and clear, her cheeks flushed, her hair mused, her head high, and all he wants to do right then is kiss her. Just cross the few steps between them and kiss her in a way that means _stay_ and _I want you_, and he can't help thinking it would be so easy to do it. It would just take a few steps, a quick reach, and a little tug.

In the end, though, maybe because he's too afraid to face the possibility of her rejection or maybe because he doesn't trust himself enough, he remains rooted to the spot. Says, "I don't want you to be stuck in all this crap. I want you to get away, to get free, and be happy."

He isn't sure if he really means it, thinks he probably doesn't, but it doesn't really _sound _like a lie, so who the hell knows?

She looks away again. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine."

"No, you won't."

"Yeah, probably not." He smiles at the top of her head. It's painless now, and easy, but he doesn't doubt it's going to hurt like a bitch in the morning. These things always do, in the daylight. "I'll survive," he says anyway. "Turns out I kind of have a talent for that."

Pepper looks up. Her eyes are too bright. "I'll stay on to help with the transition," she says. "Help you find a new assistant. Whatever you need."

It's as clear a sign as any that she's ready to move on, and he tries not to wince at it. It's his own fault. "Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "That'd be great, thanks. I appreciate it." He turns to stare out at the still-burning wreckage just visible on the horizon, at all the dusky smoke columns drifting into the night sky with their fiery orange and red highlights like fingers pointing up and up and up.

Up, up, and away. Where he wants to be.

He doesn't look at her. "We need to talk cleanup."

Pepper says, "I'm already on that."

Of course she is. Because she's Pepper, and that's what she _does._ He makes the messes and she cleans them up.

"You'll have to come up with something to tell the press, too, you know," he says, half-joking. "Only making it a week as CEO, and all."

"I'll cross that bridge when I get there," she says. "I'll figure something out."

"Right." He glances at her again. "So – cleanup? What's the plan?"

"Right now, the plan is you go home and get some sleep. I'll handle this."

"But-"

"_Don't_." Curt and sharp, again: the cutting edge of a knife in a single word. "Just go home, Tony. We'll talk about this in the morning. There's not much left to do here, anyway, so you might as well just go. I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure? Because the sky is kinda on fire over there."

"The fire department is already on it. And you've already done enough for tonight. We'll talk tomorrow."

He hesitates before nodding. He wants to stay, but can't think of a reason to; can't think of anything else to say. So he says, quietly, "All right. Well, then, good night, Pepper."

And she says, "Good night, Tony."

It's not the last time he'll see her, but as he turns to fly away he finds himself wishing that "good night" hadn't sounded so _final_.

Thing is, he's always known, deep down, that she's not his.

It doesn't make it any easier, knowing that. Doesn't make leaving any easier, not when he can taste regret like acid in the back of his throat, and it takes him every ounce of willpower he possesses not to turn around and just go tell her everything.

He doesn't do it, though: she is not his.

Never was. Never will be. Could have been, maybe, if things had gone differently, if he wasn't such a coward, but things didn't go differently, and that's that.

That's that.

As he flies home, as the cool night air rushes over his face, he tells himself the blur in his eyes is just from the wind and that the damp on his cheeks is just from the dew in the air.

_...and they all lived happily ever after._

Sitting across from Nick Fury a few days later, scanning a file.

His own file, as it happens: Agent Romanov's personality assessment for admission into the Avengers Initiative, and he's not even pretending he's not curious. He can't help but wonder what these people – including Fury – think about him.

Funny, though, since he still can't stand Fury.

He tries not to dig too deeply at that, though, not now.

"'Uh, Mister Stark displays compulsive behavior,'" he reads aloud, "'and is prone to self-destructive tendencies.'" He frowns across the table. "In my defense, that was last week. You know, when I was _dying_. I'm not now, so is that even technically valid?"

Fury's eyebrow quirks, but otherwise he doesn't react. Tony resumes his perusal of the assessment. "'Displays textbook narcissism.'" He winces, even as he's swallowing a laugh. "Agreed. Oh, here we go. 'Iron Man yes." And with that, he's on the verge of his first smile in days until his gaze strays down to the next line. He flicks a quick, irritated glare up at Fury. "Wait a minute. 'Tony Stark not recommended?' Okay, that doesn't make sense. You approve me, but you don't approve me? What the hell does _that_ mean?"

"It means we don't feel you're cut out for the Avengers Initiative. Not yet, anyway. But you could be."

"Jesus Christ," Tony mutters, running a hand over his head. Words, just words, he reminds himself, but not even the vague promise of 'could be' makes them sting any less. "Okay," he says. "So what other hoops do you want me to jump through? I mean, I've got a new ticker, I'm trying to do the right thing for Pepper, and believe it or not things are stable-ish right now."

As stable as they can be, given their state of complete upheaval. He doesn't say that, though, because he doesn't want to give Fury the satisfaction. That, and he's pretty sure Fury already knows, since he seems to be an expert on All Things Tony Stark.

Asshole.

Fury leans back in his chair and studies Tony's face for a moment through a narrow eye. It makes Tony feel like he's on a set of scales, being weighed and measured, and yeah, he really hates that feeling. It's kind of a relief when Fury says, "That's what leads us to believe at this juncture we'd only like to use you as a consultant."

"Use me." Wrong choice of words there because nobody but nobody uses him. Tony feels himself shut down, cut off, like his mask sliding over his face. He huffs a laugh, bitter and cool, and rises. "Thanks, but no thanks." Sliding the folder back across the table, he adds, "You can't afford me, anyway."

If the past few days have taught him anything, it's that he doesn't actually need to belong to some secret club. He's reeling from the Pepper thing, true, and this thing, okay maybe this has rung his bell a little too, but at the end of the day he's still Iron Man, he's still one of the smartest men on the planet, and he's still standing.

He's still alive.

As he sits there staring into Fury's one expressionless eye, it hits him that while being excluded from Fury's little club here sucks – because it _does, _it stings, there's no denying it – it's not the end of the world.

He doesn't need it, not the way he thought he did.

Turns out he kinda has a talent for survival.

Fury's face betrays nothing. He simply inclines his head and says, "Don't think for a second we won't be watching you, Stark, because you know we will be."

Tony Stark shrugs again and turns away. "You do that."

He walks out of the room, mind already turning over the modifications he wants to make to his security system.

Because, hey, life goes on, doesn't it?

(_Didn't they?)_

xXx

_This conversation  
__It strikes me  
__No need for words  
__It's understood  
_-Waldeck, "Why Did We Fire The Gun"

A/N: 9-6-12 - I've had to re-post this due to it getting erased (not by me) last night. This is the version that I had up on AO3, which had been slightly rewritten from the original that was up here. Nothing major changed - mostly just tried to catch typos and stuff. (Still missed them. Apologies.)


	2. Oh, change is coming

A/N: "The Avengers," askew. Enjoy.

1. **"Oh, change is coming, feel these doors now closing in. Is there no world for tomorrow if we wait for today?"**

Tony goes through something like eight assistants in six weeks, and by the time the last one walks out – on her first day, no less – he's pretty sure Pepper is going to murder him in the slowest, most painful way she can devise.

The worst part is, it's not even his fault.

Not _totally_ his fault.

It's not like he made a pass at this one. He stopped doing that around the second or third one – or maybe it was the fourth one, but who's really counting? – because Pepper said it was a Very Bad Idea, Tony, and blah blah blah potential lawsuit.

So he's trying not to get handsy with the help, but how the hell was he supposed to know this one was scared of fires?

It also wasn't like he was trying to start the fire. It was a complete accident.

So was the explosion that caused the fire.

Granted, explosions in his lab aren't the norm, but it is a lab for God's sake, and sometimes in the course of advancing science, stuff blows up. That goes double when idiotic robots bump into stuff and cause said blow ups. It happens, and who quits a job because of a little fire, anyway?

Pepper, still elbow-deep in the CEO-hiring process, sounds like she's grinding nails with her teeth when he calls to complain about this.

Oh, yeah, he thinks: slow and painful death.

xXx

She finds him an assistant named Dallas, some young dark-haired guy who says he's not afraid of fires.

One day, Tony can't remember if the kid's name is "San Antonio" or "Austin" or "Irving" and winds up calling him "City in Texas." City in Texas, without blinking, calls him "Mr. Synonym For Austere," and Tony decides he'll do for the time being.

Life goes on.

xXx

He even manages to keep his name out of the papers for a while. Mostly.

(Okay, so there's the thing with the Russian Ambassador at one function, but that seriously wasn't his fault. He was late to the stupid thing, so he didn't actually _see_ the brunette in the black dress come in with the ambassador, and it wasn't like she was wearing a ring, so, really, how could he have known she was the ambassador's girlfriend?)

Lab work eats up most of his time, as he enters a creative phase the likes of which he hasn't had since college. Plan after plan flows out of his head: arc reactors large enough to light buildings, a brand new power grid, new iterations of the Iron Man suit, improved security systems, and on and on.

His brain is in overdrive, and his body scrambles to keep up. He pushes himself without pause, eating only when reminded and sleeping only when his brain shuts down enough to let him.

Aside from Pepper's occasional status updates on the finding-her-replacement-thing and the one charity ball and City in Texas's reminders to eat, he has no real distractions. He's able to get the plans in ready to roll – and in the security system's case, fully implemented – within a month.

As he's things in place, it occurs to him that to do the things he needs to do, he's going to need one more thing to make this all work: the full force of his company behind him. He needs its manpower as well as its resources. Loath as he is to admit it, loath as he is to even entertain the suggestion, there really is only one way it's going to happen.

The day he finishes the plan for the large-scale arc reactor, he goes up to his penthouse, takes a long shower, and then sleeps for almost forty-eight hours.

After he's awake and functional again, he makes a phone call to his lawyer.

Then he goes down to visit Pepper.

xXx

He says, straight-faced, "I'm here to apply for the CEO job."

She stares at him like he has grown a second head, and she starts laughing like he just told the funniest joke she's ever heard. It's a carefree sound, genuine and untroubled and clear as bells. It sounds good on her.

He doesn't laugh, though.

Part of him is too busy noticing how tired she looks, how worn-down, how _sad_, and how beautiful she is despite all that. How much she needs to get away.

The rest of him is too busy digging in for what's apt to be a long discussion about Why I Want To Run My Company Again, by Tony Stark.

There's a tug when he looks at her, sure, maybe a little pull in his chest when she smiles, a small rumbling of regret, but it's neither as strong nor as difficult to ignore as he might have expected.

And when she launches into her list of Reasons That This Is A Bad Idea ("You weren't around half the time to make the big decisions. You were always too busy with your inventions and your Iron Man suit to pay attention. The company needs a leader."), he puts it out of mind.

Tells himself he's only here to win his job back.

xXx

He wins. Of course he does.

xXx

On Pepper's last day as a Stark Industries employee, Tony invites her out for a farewell dinner.

She's gentle when she turns him down, saying she has other plans and that she hopes he understands.

She kisses his cheek, thanks him for everything, and then says goodbye.

It won't be the last time they see each other, far from it, but to Tony it might as well be.

He goes out that night, drinks himself into a kind of comfortable amnesia, the kind where every memory's edge is dulled and softened to the point where it can't cut him. He ends up back at his place with a woman who has dark hair and smoky eyes and who doesn't remind him of anyone at all.

Life goes on.

xXx

The thing is, he has plans now. Plans and goals and a clear vision for the company's future, and it kind of annoys him because he can't figure out when the hell – or how the hell – he decided to become a grownup.

Well.

Less like the 'overgrown teenager' Pepper's eye rolls always accused him of being, at least.

Still annoying, either way, since it means he's in charge and therefore obligated to sit through all the tedious and mundane things, like meetings, that he hated before. He does not hate them less just because he has real plans.

In fact, he hates them more now because in order to get what he wants, he has to sit still and not talk for sometimes as long as five minutes, and that's just one injustice too many. Even worse, now there's no Pepper to run interference for him.

City in Texas draws the line at that. The kid's a decent cook, smooth with the press, and is a wonder with the appointment book, but he refuses to make excuses for Tony on the grounds that a CEO of large, multinational corporation needs to do his own damn job, sir, because his personal assistant already has a big enough headache as he's working with the media department to figure out a way to explain how said CEO got confused into thinking it was _in any way okay_ to hit on a senator's daughter when the senator himself and the daughter's war hero boyfriend were five feet away.

So Tony's screwed, and meetings become a regular thing (even if he does make it a point never to be on time, ever, on principle). It wouldn't be so bad, except everyone wants to talk in circles about his plans instead of just putting them into straight-line action like he wants. He's tempted to just override everyone and make things happen himself, but he's warned that if it looks like he's going rogue again, the board has the power to have him removed.

Checks and balances, his lawyer tells him, written into his new contract, and that just totally sucks.

Because, seriously, given a choice between sitting in meetings and getting the shit kicked out of him by a cadre of scary-organized bank robbers, he's pretty sure he'd rather take beating.

Which is actually a thing that happens.

To be fair, there are, like, eight of them and half of them have fucking rocket launchers. Apparently rocket launchers are the in fashion accessory for bank robbers this year. Who would have guessed?

He wins, he stops the robbers, and he breaks up the cartel – a well-financed drug cartel from somewhere in South America – but not before he takes about five rockets to the back of his suit, and oh buddy that shit hurts for _days_. He'd designed the Iron Man suit to withstand that kind of onslaught, and the armor does its job; it's just the impact that gets him. Getting thrown down face first into the pavement five times leaves marks.

He comes to work the next day wearing those bruises like badges, right out loud, right in everybody's uncomfortable faces: _I brought down a drug cartel last night. What did you do?_

It makes for a quiet meeting, for once, one that is less about empty talk and more about putting plans into action. That it takes that kind of thing to get their attention, well, Tony tries not to let it make him bitter, but he finds himself checking more than one snappy comment.

Things start getting done, and that's good enough.

On the less annoying side, there's Natalie, Sarah, Andrew, Lorna, Michael, Nicole and on and on in an endless parade of quiet one-night stands, one breezing in after the next, easy and uncomplicated, and forgotten as soon they're gone.

If he has to pretend that he doesn't find their company empty and that he doesn't feel lonelier having them around, well, that's okay: he's done more worse things in his life, and, honestly, it's better than the alternative.

When he's not able to look at himself in the mirror some mornings afterward, though, he tells himself it's just because he doesn't want the man in the mirror to get jealous of him. It is not because he knows he can't face what he sees there. Nope. Never that.

But that's life: building, working, fighting, saving, and sex all in an ever-shifting balancing act.

Checks and balances, and it's not perfect since he knows trouble will find him sooner or later, but it's good enough for now.

xXx

And that's how it is, right up until the day Agent Coulson finds him.

xXx

He's up in the penthouse, Tony is, a solitary glass of champagne at his elbow, eyes glued to the tablet in his hands. All the readings from tonight's experiment – the big reactor he'd installed to light the building – are looking good so far. There haven't been any fluctuations he can see, and that's the best sign of all.

In fact-

The elevator dings. He doesn't look up, figuring it's just City in Texas coming up to check in before he heads home for the night.

"Mr. Stark?"

He chews his lower lip, frowning at a sudden anomaly in the reading. Nothing major, just a couple of small spikes, but he still makes a note to have Jarvis follow up on it in the morning. Finally remembering he'd heard somebody say something, he mumbles, "Yeah, yeah, good night."

"Mr. Stark." Insistent, and louder.

"Huh?" Startled, Tony looks up. Doesn't see City in Texas. "Agent Coulson."

Agent Coulson is standing at the bottom of the stairs, like a walking stereotype for every government agency ever in his black suit, black tie, white shirt, no-nonsense haircut. He's holding a brief case in front of him with both hands like some kind of shield. "Hello, Mr. Stark," he says, a bland, banal smile in place.

"Y-? How did you get in here? You shouldn't be able to get in here. I have a security system. JARVIS-"

"Your assistant let me in," Coulson says over him.

"Oh." Tony glowers. "My former assistant, you mean."

Coulson shakes his head. "I didn't exactly give him a choice." He gaze flicks over to the glass of champagne. "What are you celebrating?"

"Dawn of a new era," Tony replies, shrugging. He sets the tablet down and rises. Something about Coulson and his stiff-backed way of standing always makes Tony itch with the need to _move_. "I'm out of champagne, though, so sorry I can't offer you any." He blinks. "You do intimidation?"

"When I have to." Coulson raises a pointed eyebrow at the near-full bottle of champagne still open on the counter. But he says, "I'm on duty, so I can't drink anyway."

"Oh," Tony says. 'On duty' finally penetrates his confusion. "I thought you were out in, uh, Arizona. Why are you here?"

"New Mexico. And that job ended, so I here I am."

"Okay. And by here, you mean _here_. Why?"

"Director Fury sent me out here to, ah, retrieve you. To bring you in."

"For what?"

"Classified, unless you come in."

Tony frowns: that 'unless' had sounded a hell of a lot more like 'until' to him, as in 'you don't really have a choice about this,' which, as far as he's concerned, is really not okay. "Didn't you get the memo? I didn't make the team."

"Yeah, actually, I did get that one," Coulson says, and he looks like he's actually on the verge of cracking a smile "It was a good day. But there's a situation, and honestly, we need you."

"You mean you need Iron Man." He could give lemons lessons in bitterness.. He shoves his hands in his pockets and backs off further into the room.

It's Coulson's turn to blink, a lizard-like flutter of eyelids over dark eyes. "That's what I said. We need Iron Man. And since you are Iron Man, that means we need you. Was that not clear?"

The little knot in Tony's chest, the one just behind the arc reactor, loosens, and he waves the question away. "Don't worry about it. Okay. So you need me. You still can't afford me. And I'm busy. I'm working on getting a new product ready to launch, and-"

"Believe me, Mr. Stark," Coulson says over him, "we wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important. Director Fury knows there are...hard feelings, and there's nothing I can do about that, except point out that he knows there are hard feelings and he sent me here anyway. What does that tell you?"

Coulson's eyebrows are up as he says this, expression saying everything his words aren't. Tony walks back over to his chair and sits, never once pausing in his study of the agent's face. Sees the determination and urgency on the surface. Sees something unsettled and disquieted beneath that.

He takes a breath, glances out the windows into the cloudless night, sighs, and returns his attention to the man in front of him. "All right, fine. I'm going to have to make some arrangements – busy CEO and all. And I'm planning to charge for this, you know. A lot."

"You can take that up with the director when you see him." Coulson crosses the room and sets his briefcase down on the bar near Tony's tablet. "Let me declassify some information for you."

"Ooh, Agent Coulson," Tony says, smirking, "I love it when you talk secrets."

Coulson just rolls his eyes.

xXx

Fury's at least willing to entertain the idea of paying Tony, so Tony goes with Coulson.

It's just a hop, skip, and jump and suddenly Tony finds himself back in the same room with good ol' One-Eye, and regretting letting himself get talked into hopping aboard this floating Island of Misfit Toys.

And what misfits they are: Steve Rodgers, good old Captain America himself, all thawed out and just as Captain-y as ever as ever; Dr. Bruce Banner, an oddly quiet and diminutive guy for somebody with such a notoriously huge rage monster inside; and, oh, hey, Natasha Romanov, she of the judgmental pen and impeccable spy skills.

None of them looks any more comfortable than Tony feels, and he doesn't wonder: he can practically smell the secrets on this floating fortress, everything hidden between words and behind doors that only open from the inside and the under the layers upon layers of lies.

It makes him itch between his shoulder blades, and the first thing he does when he has a chance is to set Jarvis loose to hack the system, because thelast thing he's going to do is sit here and accept the bullshit Fury's trying to push off on them.

Fury claims this Tesseract thing – the glowing cube-thingy that has Coulson's panties in a wad – is a source of unlimited clean energy, and Tony decides he likes the sound of _that_, because, hey, that happens to be his own pet project right now, but he also decides the whole thing smells funky.

This is S.H.I.E.L.D., after all, and it seems to Tony there are a lot of things an agency like S.H.I.E.L.D could do with a battery that big.

xXx

And then Tony meets Loki.

Which is when things just get _weird_.

xXx

When Tony thinks back on it, he's never sure exactly _why_, but he always remembers _when_.

Up until that particular, Reindeer Games doesn't really even _exist_ on Tony's radar as anything other than a shimmering, shifting sack of megalomaniacal crazy. He's all glittering green eyes and knife-sharp smirk and calm confidence. Take all that plus the weird-ass costume – which, okay, ridiculous helmet aside is actually sort of cool, all those elaborate greens and blacks and golds, but still – and there is _just no way_ he's anything other than a complete lunatic. He doesn't even seem fazed that he's in custody.

Which is a whole other thing in and of itself, but Tony tries not think about it.

It's when the lightning hits that things shift a little bit.

When the lightning hits, a distinct change comes over their captive. In a flash, the confidence evaporates, the eyes stop their manic glittering, and the smirk withers. He _flinches_ after another vicious, rumbling blast, and Tony, who has been watching, sees a quickflash of something like pain and fear skitter across the guy's face. His eyes slide closed, his head bows, his mouth tightens.

"Afraid of a little lightning?" Steve asks.

Reindeer Games grimaces again after a particularly vicious bolt tears across the sky. "I'm not overly fond of what follows," he says. He's broadcasting distress on every channel, and If it's a con, it's one of the best Tony's ever seen.

Then Thor makes his Asgardian presence felt, and Tony forgets the entire exchange in the sheer, stupid chaos that follows.

xXx

It comes back to him later, though.

After they've escorted Loki – fitting name, no? – back to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, and before any serious interrogation begins, during the lull when they've all retreated to their corners to try to wrap their collective brains around what the fuck they're gonna do about all this, it sneaks up on him.

He gets up from his corner of the lab and finds himself wandering, thoughts drifting in slow circles from S.H.I.E.L.D and Fury's lies to Loki to the Tesseract and back again.

Questions on top of questions, and so many things about this don't make sense, and trying to fit it all together into some kind of coherent narrative feels like trying fit a jigsaw puzzle together blindfolded.

Add to that the fact that he can't actually stand one quarter the so-called team Fury has assembled to figure all this shit out – _and fuck Rogers, anyway, the judgmental asshole, can't understand why the old man was so fucking obsessed with finding the guy _– and Tony finds himself on the verge of packing it in and heading back to the tower.

Much as he wants to, though, he doesn't.

Instead, he winds up just going for a walk around the base, hoping to burn off some of his frustration so he can approach the problem with a clearer head.

He wanders past one room and sees Thor alone inside, back to the door. Thor is _massive_, and impressive as hell in armor that, color aside, doesn't look all that dissimilar to Loki's. On pain of death, he will never admit this aloud, but Tony can't help thinking the armor actually looks _right_ on Thor – and not like some weird-ass costume plucked straight from the set of a swords-and-sandals epic.

The big guy is standing in front of a monitor, and, hey, two guesses what he's staring at. His massive arms folded over his chest, and Tony doesn't doubt Thunder God in there is doing that pensive frowning thing.

And that's when the whole weirdness from earlier comes back to him.

That look on Loki's face, whatever the hell it was, which Tony now knows was because of Thor and probably just because Loki was hoping to avoid getting caught.

Still interesting, though, and Tony doesn't doubt there's a story there.

During the debriefing, Thor had been pretty tight-lipped on the subject of his adopted brother. He didn't offer much of an explanation as to why he wanted to take Loki back to Asgard, but they'd all been able to read between the lines: Loki had done something, had pissed somebody off in a big way, and was owed some punishment for it.

And, okay, so maybe it's none of his business what that something was, but Tony's never been one to actually _mind_ his own business – particularly when his curiosity has been piqued.

Knowledge, he'd discovered a long time ago, was the actual key to opening the world's doors.

So after a few seconds' mental debate, and because he needs the distraction, Tony shrugs and heads into the room. He's careful to make noise as he does so he doesn't accidentally bring the wrath of that big fucking hammer down on his unprotected skull.

Thor doesn't look around, even as Tony stands right beside him at the monitor.

"So," Tony says, all casual indifference, "that's your brother, huh?"

"Yes." An absent rumble.

Loki's standing in the middle of the cell, hands clasped behind his back, face expressionless. Like he could wait forever.

"So what's his deal?" Tony asks Thor. "Not enough hugs as a kid? Get dropped on his head too many times? Freak out when he found out he was adopted? What?"

Thor shoots him a hard look. "That is not your concern, Man of Iron."

"Okay, first of all, it's Iron Man. Second of all, call me Tony. Third of all, your brother is trying to take over my home planet. I'd say that kind of _does_ make it my concern. So I want to know what we're dealing with. I mean, he's nuts, but is he _just _nuts, or is this actually about something?"

"He is _not_...!" Snap-crackle of knuckles as Thor's hands clench, and when he turns to fully glare at Tony it's with storm-dark blue eyes. "My brother is _lost_, not insane."

"Lost, yeah. Okay. Lost. Let's go with that." Tony shifts so he's leaning sideways against the desk. "So how'd he get that way? What happened?"

Glaciers form and melt in the time it takes Thor to answer, but Tony doesn't push. He does fidget, however, because waiting has never been this thing. So he fidgets, taps his foot, he watches Thor watch him fidget and tap, and he wonders what Thor thinks about _that_.

He finds himself wishing he would have pushed, because Thor looks away and says, "Many have tried to understand my brother. Even those who know him well have failed."

Something bitter in the way Thor says it, and Tony finds himself wondering if 'those who know him well' really know the guy at all.

He's pretty sure the answer is a resounding 'no' because Loki strikes him as the kind of guy who just completely gets off on being the wild card, on being unknown and unknowable, on shifting at people just to keep them spinning.

Tony shrugs, though, and decides to keep that little tidbit to himself. "Look," he says instead, "the only reason I'm asking is there's a difference between fighting somebody who's genuinely nuts and somebody who's just lashing out. Sometimes – not always, mind you, but sometimes – you can kind of reason with the lashing-out guy. Usually can't a nutcase."

Which is probably bullshit, because he's making it up as he goes along, but it _sounds good_.

Thor's frown cuts deep grooves into his forehead. "You truly believe I have not tried?"

"Oh, I'm sure you have, big guy. Thing is, you're right on top of the situation. He's your brother. He didn't look happy to see you when you did your, you know, dropping out of the sky thing earlier, so I'm guessing you're part of his dysfunction. So just out with it, okay? Give me the short and sweet, and then I'll let you get back to your staring."

"It does not matter," Thor mutters. He adjusts one of his gauntlets, lowers his hands, squares his shoulders. "When this is done, I will return with him to Asgard, and he will answer for his crimes."

"You do realize he could have escaped probably half a dozen times while you and I were getting acquainted before, right? Also, if he's got all this magic mojo you say he does, why isn't he getting himself the hell out of here? Much as I hate to say it, Fury's right – he wants to be here. Something's up. And the more information we have about your brother and his possible motivation, the better-armed we're gonna be if something happens."

There's another one of those forever pauses, but this time Tony thinks he can see the gears turning behind Thor's eyes as he mulls that one over. Finally, Thor nods and glances over. "Perhaps you will judge my brother less harshly if you know what I know. However, I do not wish what I tell you to reach any other ears. I would have your word on that."

"My-? Oh. Yeah. Okay, sure. You have my word. I won't tell anybody."

Thor begins to speak, terse and gruff and direct: a handful of words that make it clear that of course this is about something more than just one god with a bad case of the out-and-out batshit crazies.

Interestingly, it's the what's between the words, what's painted in Thor's silences, that make the picture even clearer: little brother always in big brother's shadow, little brother smarter than big brother but big brother popular because he's a _stud_ and a warrior, little brother jealous, Dad not exactly hiding which son is the favored, and then, just when it can't get any worse, little brother finds out Mom and Dad actually adopted him – apparently from a race that everyone considers monsters.

And, wow, _that_ couldn't possibly fuck a guy up, now can it?

"Jesus," Tony mutters. Evidently, he _didn't_ have a monopoly on crappy childhoods, and he finds it pretty damn disturbing that even gods, who probably should know better. aren't immune from fucking up their children.

"It does not excuse his actions," Thor says.

"No. No, he made his own choices," Tony agrees. "But, yeah, I get it. So what kind of punishment is he looking at once you get him back?" No real reason for the question; again, just for curiosity's sake.

"My father will most likely imprison him. Contain his magic. Father believes, as I do, there's still a chance we can undo this, and set him on a better path."

Tony, thinking about glinting eyes and gleaming teeth, doubts that, but all he does is reach up and clap Thor on the shoulder, because, hey, who is he to shatter the guy's illusions? Everybody's gotta have something. "Well, good luck with that, buddy. And, uh, thanks. That – helped."

Thor's expression brightens just a touch. "Yes, my friend," he replies, "it did."

Could be, Tony thinks, as he turns to walk away, that Thor actually wanted to talk about it, after all.

It doesn't change anything, of course, but it's good to know.

xXx

A couple hours later, chaos erupts again and everything just starts to fall the fuck apart.

xXx

Coulson's death hits Tony like a fist right between the eyes.

For all that Coulson – _Phil_, he learns; _his name was Phil _– was forever and hilariously trailing behind Captain America like some kind of awestruck, over-earnest puppy dog, the guy was actually _okay_.

He was probably the most _okay_ guy on this fucking barge, the galling stupidity of his death sparks a slow, cold anger in Tony that he hasn't felt since Obie revealed himself to be a traitor and a would-be murderer.

He shoves aside any thoughts he might have had about trying to understand Thor's murdering psychopath of a little brother, because Coulson was actually one of those guys who actually _believed_ in something good and for that little light – however nerdy and unintentionally, albeit amusingly, homoerotic it was – to get snuffed out...

Fuck understanding.

And fuck Loki, too.

xXx

If there's an upside, Tony knows the score before he takes off.

Fury comes clean about wanting to use the Tesseract as a weapon, which at that point makes him _persona non grata_ in Tony's eyes.

In everyone's eyes, actually, because apparently in the wake of Coulson's death he and Steve and and Clint and Tasha, the ones who are still together, they've all done the clichéd superhero movie thing and are using Coulson's death as a rallying point.

As rallying points go, though, they could do a hell of a lot worse.

So, collectively, as a team, they tell Nick Fury to go fuck himself.

And then they head out to stop Loki and his fucking quest for world domination.  
xXx

Of course the crazy fucker would pick Stark Tower as his base of operation.

_Of course_ he would.

Because, hey, why not rub salt _and_ vinegar into the wound?

And that's exactly where Tony finds him.

Tony takes off the Iron Man suit – it's about dead, anyway – and heads inside clad only in his Black Sabbath tee shirt and jeans and boots.

Pretty lousy armor, push come to shove.

But.

Loki tends toward tall and lean rather than muscular, so he doesn't cut quite the imposing a figure that Thor does. He's still pretty impressive, Tony decides as pours himself what may well be his very last drink, but right now he seems a tiny bit agitated. He reminds Tony of a lion in a cage, stalking back and forth in front of the glass, expectant and coiled.

It makes Tony a little edgy, enough that he has second, third, and fourth thoughts about this half-assed, last-ditch not-quite-plan-thing he came up with on the way over here.

Of course, even fifth thoughts don't always stop him, so he tosses back the alcohol, winces at the burn, and says, "So, you're not as smart as I thought you were."

Because _obviously _he has a death wish.

But Loki doesn't seem offended by that. All he does is pause and glance over, eyebrows raised in polite question. Even his tone is polite when he says, "And, why, might I ask, do you say that?"

"Well, because the way your brother talks you up, you're supposed to be really good at stuff like this. Making plans, I mean. That's what he said, anyway."

The polite expression is replaced by something darker, a twist of thin lips and eyebrows drawn down and hooded eyes. "Did he."

"Yup." Tony takes another slow swallow from his glass. "He told me a lot about you, actually. Or, well, okay maybe I dragged it out of him, but whatever. Point is, he told me all about you. Like how he has this crazy idea that you haven't come totally unhinged. I don't buy it, but whatever floats his boat. Turns out he thinks there's still a chance you can stop this before things get out of control. Crazy, huh?"

"Thor is an idiot."

"Yeah, he's definitely more brawn than brains, I'll give you that. Still seems to care about you, though. This would probably be easier for you if he didn't, wouldn't it? That way you could tell yourself you weren't here throwing this temper tantrum just to get back at him for, well, being better than you."

"Temper. Tantrum." And _Jesus Christ_, it feels like the temperature in the room has dropped like fifteen degrees in about one second. Loki eyes are like frozen-over lakes, and hey, is that a hint of red in them?

That's – vaguely creepy.

Tony puts on the remote straps for his Iron Man suit. It never hurts.

"He is not better than me." Loki grinds each word out between his teeth. "And is not a temper tantrum. I mean to rule this world. _Because I can_."

Tony holds up a placating hand. "Not a temper tantrum. So you're doing it because – why?"

"Because I can end wars and famine in a single stroke. You're all weak and pathetic. You're drowning because you needlessly complicate your lives with choices. You waste your potential on petty bickering when you could be working together to advance yourselves as a species. You merely lack order, discipline. And that is something I can give you."

"...uh. Okay. Well, here's the thing: you're right about us wasting our potential on stupid crap. We do that. Also, yes. War and famine are a problem. Thing is, we don't actually need you to take away our free will for us to fix that. We're capable of handling this stuff ourselves. Besides that, I don't think that's really why you're doing this."

Back to amusement again, narrowed eyes glinting. "Do enlighten me, then."

"Not saying I know you or anything, but I get the feeling order and discipline aren't your thing. You're kind of opposite of that. Chaos and unpredictability and making messes – that's more your wheelhouse. But more to the point, it isn't even about _us_. It's about _you_, big fella, and that great big hole you got inside you."

Loki actually looks down at himself, frowns, and then flicks a pointed look at Tony's chest. "As far as I am aware, it's _you_ who has the hole in _you_. I have no machinery in me."

"Ha, no," Tony says. "That's not what I meant. A hole. Something missing. You know. How you'd feel if daddy had treated you and Thor the same? Or maybe if he hadn't told you were a scary monster? Because if you had those things, if they weren't missing, maybe you wouldn't be doing this."

What a stupid plan this was, he thinks, because yeah, that just sounded like something he might have heard on an episode of Dr. Phil or Oprah, some stupid bullshit therapy crap. Half-assed therapy crap, and man did he suck at this.

Still: Tony Stark, Therapist to the Gods.

Like his ego needs more of boost.

Suddenly, he has a whole new appreciation for meetings. Boring or not, slow torture or not, at least he can't _die_ from them. Except in an entirely metaphorical sense, of course, but at least he'll be able to walk away from them.

He decides on the spot if he lives, he'll never complain about another meeting again. Well. Maybe. He'll make an effort to complain _less_ about them, anyway. He can probably do that.

Meanwhile, the god in question has returned to his place by the windows, and he's turned away.

"I have no such holes in me," he says at last.

"My ass you don't. And what I'm trying to say is what you're doing – all this chaos and destruction and, oh, yeah _the killing _– it's not going to get you what you want. Even if you manage to pull this off and conquer the planet, that hole you got is still going to be there. If you manage to pull this off, it isn't gonna fix what's wrong with you."

"_If_? I have an army."

"We have a Hulk." Tony shakes his head and decides he's had enough of this touchy-feely shit. "And that's beside the point. Like I said, you aren't as smart as you think you are. Otherwise you'd see you're in a no-win situation. There is no version of this where you come out ahead. _Maybe_ your army comes, and _maybe_ you pull off your _coup de grace_ here, but you're still gonna lose.

"In the first place," he goes on, "there's _us_. The Avengers. I guarantee you if we can't protect the planet, then we'll damn sure avenge it. And we're sure as _fuck_ going to avenge Phil. You shouldn't have killed him.

"In the second place, it won't help. You do this, you're still gonna be the same monster, only now people are going to hate you – legitimately hate you. Not that we don't already, but this'll seal the deal. They'll hate you and they'll be afraid of you. The ones who aren't trying to fight you, they'll bow down, but it won't be willingly. It won't be because they respect you. It sure as hell won't be because they love you."

"And what about your family? You they'd be _proud_ to know you've let yourself become that monster? You think tearing this planet apart would make your old man _less _disappointed in you? Do you really think-"

"SILENCE!" Loki roars, and suddenly he's right there, right in front of the bar, all sparking eyes and white knuckles and cords standing out in his throat. "You have no idea – _none_ – what you're saying, you _pathetic_ fool."

"Don't I?" Tony straightens and walks around the bar so he's standing toe-to-toe with Loki. "I got rich making weapons that were used to _slaughter_ innocent people. They called me the fucking Merchant of Death." The last bit of fear ebbs away, and in its place is that frozen anger, the kind that makes each word sound like shards of ice snapping off an iceberg. "Don't tell me I don't know anything about being a monster. Because I _do_. Okay? I do. And what I know is _being_ a monster doesn't get you anything but a big fucking hole right _here_." He thumps the arc reactor. "And no amount of power you grab, no planet you destroy, no _anything_ will ever fill that hole. You're just going to keep grabbing for more and more, until the day you find yourself on the wrong end of _your own shit_ with _nothing_ to show for it and everybody you thought you could trust turned against you and that great big hole still eating you from the inside."

And – okay, he thinks, blinking into the kind of silence that howls, so it sounds more melodramatic than he meant it to, but, hell, Loki walks around wearing a cape and with fucking horns on his head, so maybe melodrama is his speed.

Silence then, rolling over them like a tidal wash, heavy and leaden. Loki's face is devoid of expression, but his eyebrows are raised and his eyes are no longer slitted. On anyone else, Tony would call that look 'taken aback.'

On Loki, it might well be 'I'm contemplating how much magic I need to slap you the fuck _down_.'

_But_.

There it is again: that quickflash of uncertainty, a flicker in the eyes like maybe a second thought or two is pushing its way through that maze of anger and craziness.

Loki turns away again, but not before Tony sees something else that gives him pause: bone-deep weariness. Heaviness. It's an expression he has seen more than once in the mirror, and _for fuck's sake_ sympathy is the last thing he should be feeling right now, but that's exactly what he's feeling. A little, at least, even if it's still tempered by the urge to hop into the Iron Man suit and toss his ass out of the tower.

"And what is the alternative?" Loki rasps then. His mouth is twisted like he's bitten into something sour, and the knuckles around the staff are white. "Return to Asgard with Thor and beg forgiveness? Accept whatever punishment Odin decides for me and vow to amend my wicked ways?" A hasp of a laugh, bitter and harsh. "I think not."

"Then don't." Tony shakes his head. "Don't go back there. Find something else to do." _Preferably off this planet_. "I know one thing you could do right now that would score you some serious brownie points: shut down the portal and call off the fucking invasion."

"This _is_ what I found to do," Loki mutters. "And as to calling off the invasion, it's rather too late for that."

"Funny, I don't see your army."

"You will. I can't stop it."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"I can't." That heaviness again, the weariness, and Tony frowns because that actually sounds like a really loaded word, like there's more here than meets the eye, and gee, wouldn't _that _be a big surprise? But then, Loki rouses himself and offers a crooked smirk. "Actually, I quite like playing the villain."

That quick, Tony is just _done_. It was a stupid plan anyway, and how he ever thought trying to reason with somebody like this was a good idea, he'll never know. So he sneers. "Jesus, you call _Thor_ an idiot? You are full of shit. Seriously. Even I call tell you're lying. And by the way? You are going to lose. No matter what happens here, you are going to lose. If it's not me, then it'll be your brother. And if not him, then Hulk. Or Hawk. Or Tasha. Or Cap. Because you managed to piss every one of us off today. Which was monumentally stupid on your part, but that seems to be your m.o., so well done. So, yeah. You're going down, big guy."

"I think not," Loki says, and all of a sudden he's back up in Tony's face, all mania and rage and magic.

He taps Tony's arc reactor with the staff and – blinks. Taps it again. Frowns.

And Tony desperately wants to make some vicious, smart-ass comment about performance issues, but he never gets the chance because something rams into him like a goddamn freight train and knocks him to the ground. And then he's being hurled bodily through the air.

There's an explosion of glass, and then freefall.

xXx

There's a peculiar freedom that comes with freefall, Tony finds.

It's this odd kind of weightless feeling. Even though the wind's howling around him and whistling in his ears, it feels like he's floating. Like he's just hanging.

Except for the part where the ground is rushing up at him way, way too fast.

Luckily, he gets the suit activated, but only just in time. When he wheels around and shoots back into the sky, he can see that, much to his chagrin, the invasion has begun.

And the next hour or so is nothing but a blur of combat, ducking and dodging and weaving and shooting and there are so many of those fucking things flying around it's like being surrounded by a swarm of really pissed off wasps.

Pissed off wasps with guns and bombs.

He fights until there is literally nothing left in his vision or his mind except what's round the next corner, until his body is trembling from the exertion, until his suit starts running out of ammo and the armor starts taking the kinds of hits it can't recover from.

He doesn't stop, though; he can't, not while everyone else is still fighting.

And they are. Cap, in addition to being a hell of a fighter, is a hell of a leader, and he gets them where they need to be to take care of the worst of the swarms. Hulk is a _beast_ and he rips into the giant flying things like he's a kid ripping wings off flies. Thor's a destructive tornado with that hammer. Hawk's arrows cut swaths through the flying menaces. Tasha is a force on the ground, all whirling blades and feet and hands.

Tony actually has time to think that maybe Fury knew what he was doing after all.

Not that he will ever admit that.

They all have their limits, and it's the biggest relief when they finally get control of the damn portal.

But because this day can't _possibly_ get any worse, the word "nuke" gets thrown out there.

Somehow Tony knows, deep in his gut, that it's going to be his turn to run with this particular football. It's just the way things seem to be going.

They come up with the idea of sending the nuke up through the portal before they close it, and they all turn to look at Tony.

It has to be him because none of the others can fly.

Their looks say what he himself has already figured out: it's a one-way trip. Once that portal gets shut down, he'll either be killed in its wake or he'll be shot off into space. His suit's about out of juice and there's no time to refuel.

_Won't fall on the wire, my ass_.

Well, what the hell?

At least it'll get him out of meetings.

He's the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world, and on the verge of a huge breakthrough in clean energy, but, really, most of the hard work is done. The plans are in place, and he has a reasonably competent staff to see it all through, and their CEO falling on a nuke to save the world should be good for a few years' motivation, at least, shouldn't it?

To grab the nuke and run, it's not the hardest decision he's ever made.

xXx

Space, he decides, once he's up there, is really pretty.

Far removed from all the city lights, it's a riot of bright stars and planets against a tight black canvas, and really, as far as ways to die go, he can think of a lot worse.

The day's been saved, the villain's been caught, and that's pretty much all that matters at this point.

Yeah, he has his regrets – like Pepper, like he won't see his plans for his company come full-circle, like so many other little things he left undone – but when weighed against everything else, the scales balance pretty well.

So he closes his eyes and lets himself drift.

xXx

He wakes up on the ground some time later, the rest of the team hovering over him and no alien army that he can see anywhere. He is a solid mass of aches from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, though, and his suit kind of feels like it's crimped and kinked around him.

He says, half-serious, "Nobody kissed me, did they?"

The team – his team – smiles down at him.

And he thinks:_ So much for getting out of meetings..._

xXx

Fury doesn't try to contact Tony afterward.

Tony's glad; he's pretty sure the entire conversation would be one-sided and consist mostly of Tony trying to come up with creative and vitriolic ways to reiterate how much he wants Fury to go fuck himself.

The rest of the team all have other places to be, and that's fine. Tony's got a company to run himself and, yeah, saving the world garners a hell of a lot of good press for the business, but it doesn't mean the work stops needing to be done.

He goes to see Thor and Loki off, mostly because he's not going to feel like it's really over until Loki's off the planet and on his way to rot in whatever prison exists in Asgard.

Loki hasn't spoken a word since he's been caught, not that he can thanks to his muzzle, and there's not a single person as far as Tony can tell who is bothered by that. Even Thor seems fairly indifferent as he shoves his brother ahead of him.

Tony standing a little off to one side can't help himself, though. Salt and vinegar. "So, Loki," he says, "how's it feeling now? Still empty?"

Loki's eyes meet his for a brief moment. There's nothing in them. Nothing at all.

And Loki never says a word.

"Good fucking riddance," Tony mutters after the two disappear.

And that's the end.

Only he's pretty sure it's not.

Sure, Fury's pretty much out of the picture, but he and the others had some kind of unspoken understanding that _if_ shit ever hit the fan again, if it ever became necessary, then there's always a chance they can come back together again.

Doesn't mean they _will_, but the possibility is always there.

They were a good team.

xXx

Life goes on.

xXx

_Raise your hands high  
__Young brothers and sisters!  
__There's a world's worth of work  
__And a need for you.  
_-Coheed and Cambria, "No World for Tomorrow."

A/N: Honestly, this could have stood as a complete story, but, as I said, this was just the beginning. Chapter titles are song lyrics, with the song and artist at the bottom. More to come. Thanks for reading.


	3. I am someone no one said I was

A/N: I meant to say this last chapter, but my stories tend to run long. Also, thanks to everyone who slogged through that beast of a prologue. Much shorter chapter this time, though I suspect this is going to be an exception rather than the rule. Thanks to those who left reviews, too.

**2. "So let me in because I'm out. I know that I am someone no one said I was."**

It is humiliating, Loki finds, to be forced to kneel at the foot of Odin's golden throne.

Not quite as humiliating as being beaten senseless by a green giant, but close.

He finds he would much rather face the All-Father's judgment on his feet.

Considering where he _could_ be, however, he decides that he can endure the indignity.

At least he knows what to expect here.

He has sat in on enough of his father's judgments to know what will happen: he will be asked to offer a defense for his actions, and he will be then expected to ask for lenience considering the circumstances surrounding his crimes.

Odin will, no doubt, be expecting a smooth, polished defense, sincere words spoken with gravity and apology. He will want a show of remorse, some indication that Loki is willing to repent for this crimes.

But Loki has always excelled at confounding expectations.

So when Odin All-Father asks, "What defense do you offer for your actions?" in a voice that rolls and echoes through the throne room, Loki offers nothing at all.

He remains kneeling as he'd been forced to. Though he can feel the All-Father's heavy gaze on him, can feel Thor's imploring stare, Loki does not look up from the golden step in front of him.

The air in the throne room is oppressive, thick, and charged as though a storm is building. Doubtless, Loki thinks, doubtless it is. Thor is restless behind him.

"Speak!" Odin thunders.

Loki remains silent.

"Brother," Thor says then, his voice quiet and pathetic in its pleading, "why do you refuse to answer our father? Do you not wish to explain your actions?"

Loki merely chuckles, quiet huffs into a tense silence.

Odin thumps his staff down hard enough to make the entire room shudder. "Enough!" he roars. "You dare mock your brother when he offers you an opportunity to seek mercy?"

At this, Loki lifts his head and fixes All-Father with a look that cannot be mistaken for anything but _I absolutely do_.

Odin's eye narrows, his expression darkening into something that looks murderous. Loki has no time to fear for his life however, because that expression breaks moment later. The All-Father's face fills instead with a terrible, heavy sadness; his shoulders, previously squared and straight, sag.

Disappointment, again; perhaps even a kind of pity.

Loki lowers his head again so neither Thor nor the All-Father sees him wince. He had prepared himself to face Odin's wrath and rage, but not his pity.

It cuts just as much as it had on the shattered edge of the bridge.

All-Father's voice is quiet and fatigue-heavy when he says, "Then you leave me no choice, my son, but to judge you guilty and to condemn you to serve out your full punishment. You will remain imprisoned here, denied your magic, until you find it in you to repent what you've done. Once I have judged you sufficiently and sincerely repentant, you will be bound into service. How long you remain there will depend on whether or not you are genuinely willing to seek a new path for yourself – one that does not lead you to destruction and ruin."

Almost unbidden, the words Loki had spoken to that idiotic mortal Stark come back to him: _"What is the alternative? Return to Asgard? Accept whatever punishment Odin decides for me and vow to amend my wicked ways_?"

Still, he finds himself smothering a surprised laugh: he'd been expecting a more creative punishment than simple imprisonment and service.

Odin's idea of mercy, perhaps.

A mask of bored indifference in place, for he cares not for Odin's mercy, Loki is able to lift his eyes once more and nod his understanding.

Odin holds his gaze for a moment before he turns to seat himself on the throne. As he does, he sighs, a sound like a gust of wind over the Jotunheim wasteland. Regret and sadness and bewilderment press themselves into the lines of his weathered face once more.

That damnable look again. It takes Loki considerable effort not to flinch.

When the All-Father speaks this time, it is in his dry, quiet teacher's voice: Father, rather than Odin All-Father. "Do you truly hate me, my son, for keeping the truth of your birth from you? For wishing to shield you from the pain that knowledge brings you?"

_For lying to me_?

In truth, however, Loki can put no name to the feeling in his chest. It is a complicated thing, a dark tangle of anger and bitterness and betrayal and resentment, layers upon layers. 'Hate' seems too simplistic a term for it.

He does not say this, however, and Odin, apparently realizing no answer is forthcoming, says, "It is unfortunate that I fell into the Odinsleep before we had a chance to finish our conversation. What I would have told you was that while I took you for a purpose, it was always my hope I would never have need to use you for it. I came to hope, as foolish as it seems now, that you would never know that you were anything but my son.

"Whatever you think of me now, Loki, you _are_ my son. You are a child of my house and my heart, and it grieves me deeply to see how lost you have become, how far you have fallen, to see that you have such _darkness_ in you."

Loki's chest and throat constrict. His mouth pulls tight, jaw clenched against bitter questions and furious denunciations and a small but somehow horrifying urge to _plead_ with Odin for mercy. He bows his head again, burning eyes sliding closed.

"_And your family? You think they'd be proud to know you've let yourself become that monster?"_

How he wishes he would have ripped out that damned mortal's tongue.

"Will you not speak, my son?" Odin's voice is gentle now, entreating.

_My son_.

Yet.

_Yet_.

Loki lifts his eyes once more, uncaring that they are wet, and looks at Odin All-Father.

Neither repentant nor defiant.

_I am no one's son_.

At long last, Odin rises. "So be it." He motions for the four guards and instructs them to take Loki away.

Loki does not look at his brother.

When at last the door closes between himself and his family, a great, sweeping relief washes over him.

Free at last from the shadowy menace of that Other, and safe from whatever punishment Thanos might wish to inflict on him for his failure to secure the Tesseract, he will be able to rest, to heal, to recover his magical strength.

His reserve had been drained to virtually nothing by the time Thor had put the binders on.

It is barely stirring, and what little he can feel is muted and distant and weak.

It will not remain that way forever, though.

In the meantime, locked away from all who would wish him harm, he will rest.

And then he will prepare.

xXx

Thor stares at the door for several minutes after it closes, thinking.

He has never seen his brother that way before, so closed and cold, and it made him ache even more than on the day he learned Loki had sent the Destroyer to kill him.

He starts when he feels his father's hand fall on his shoulder. "You are troubled, my son," Odin says.

Thor glances over, eyebrows lifting. "Are you not, Father?"

"I have done what I can."

"But service? Imprisonment? Could you not have done as you did with me? Strip him of his magic and send him away? I found my way back. Surely he would have."

"His magic is strong," Odin replies. "Stronger than perhaps even he realizes. It is ingrained in him down to his very marrow. If I stripped it away, it would kill him as surely as if I beheaded him. I can only contain it, prevent him from using it."

Startled, Thor turns more fully to face his father. "I thought him a mere conjurer," he says. "He is that strong?"

"Yes," his father says. "That is why we must keep him here. For his sake, and ours, he must be kept under control, and his power contained. Until he can be convinced to do as you have done and seek a better path for himself, we have no choice."

Kept under control. Contained. _Convinced. _As if Loki is an unruly animal in need of taming.

The thought does not sit well with Thor. Nor does the matter-of-fact way his father spoke it.

"And if he cannot be convinced?"

"Let us hope it never comes to that," Odin replies heavily. He does not give Thor time to answer, but instead turns to lead the way out of the throne room. "Come. We have other matters to see to this morning. Your mother is anxious to see you."

As he turns to follow his father out of the room, Thor tries to convince himself that this is for the best.

But, still, he wonders.

xXx

Loki is aware, on some level, that time passes.

As he has no way to measure it, however, it ceases to matter.

When he is fed, he eats.

When he is given water to drink, he drinks.

When he has water with which to wash himself, he washes.

When he is given clean garments to wear, he exchanges them for his dirty ones.

Beyond that, he remains chained to the floor in a cell that is barely wide enough for him to catch his breath. The only light filters in through small window in the door, a constant flickering glow from a torch in the passageway outside.

He knows time passes because he can feel his magic strengthening. It, however, remains frustratingly beyond his grasp. He can _feel_ it trying to reach him: tiny fingers scrambling to reach the channels in his mind. Just when those fingers find a hold, they slip away as if they have been _pushed_.

He lacks for anything better to do but keep trying.

There is nothing else to break up the quiet, no visits from anyone save the guard who brings him his food and water, no books to read, no windows to look out on.

So he tries to reconnect with his magic, and when he tires of that, he turns his mind to planning.

If he escapes, he will be hunted.

His utter failure to deliver on his promises has no doubt earned him a very large black mark, and will doubtless bring with it the sort of punishment that will make this confinement seem like nothing more than a pleasant retreat.

_If_ he is caught.

_If_.

He has many ideas on that subject, too, and those ideas keep him sufficiently occupied.

When he tires of thinking himself in circles over his plans, he simply _waits_.

He does not once give serious consideration to Odin's notion of 'repentance.'

xXx

His mother comes to him once, early on, and hers is the only visit he truly dreads.

She is all soft lines and shadowed eyes and sadness when she tells him he is her son and she will always love him. The hand that strokes his cheek is the same gentle hand that used to smooth his hair when he was a boy, and the simple kindness nearly undoes him.

It's the memory of warmth, an echo of a time when things were much simpler, so bright and clear it makes him ache clear through.

He aches so much he finds he can't bear the touch.

Worse, though, is the hurt that flashes across her face when he wrenches away from her, when he scrabbles backward and huddles against the cell's cool stone wall, when he makes himself glare at her like he loathes the very sight of her.

Like he wishes her dead._  
_

In truth, it is himself he loathes for it, for making her weep before she leaves him. Though she was a willing accomplice to Odin's deception, she is not responsible for it. She was, in fact, the only one who made any effort whatsoever to understand him, the only one who never hesitated to show him love and acceptance.

She is also a weakness he can no longer afford, not now, not if he is to leave this place with his mind and will intact.

_Let her save her kindness and compassion for those who need it_, he thinks, dropping his head back against the wall behind him.

He remains there long after his eyes have dried.

xXx

She does not come again.

No one else comes.

Not even Thor.

Although most of him is glad, part of him can't deny that it hurts.

xXx

When he is tired, he sleeps.

And when he sleeps, he dreams.

His dreams are uneasy things, full of darkness and death and shadows.

In his dreams, there is a war.

_The_ war.

The war that ends everything.

He sees Thor and Odin die in the snow, cut down by a skeletal hand wielding a blackly flaming sword. The All-Father's golden armor is battered and dented, smeared with mud and ash. Thor's helmeted head lands a short distance away from his body.

Blood screams crimson against a field of stark white.

And he knows, without knowing how, that Asgard is burning.

Just as he knows, without knowing how, that he himself has brought this down on them.

As he knows that he is about to die.

All around, there is fighting: swords clashing and magical strikes ripping holes in the very fabric of the sky and and hideous creatures the likes of which he has never seen before making the ground tremble with their heavy tread.

Bodies lay everywhere, faces both familiar and foreign to him, all strewn in the field like toys scattered by some careless child.

And the _sounds_.

The moans of the dying. Blood-choked supplications for help. And the screams.

Gods help him, the terrible, terrified _screams_.

When he hears the screams, he awakens.

Sometimes he is screaming himself.

In one dream, the last dream, he sees enormous black-and-rotting creatures with too many teeth crawl between the bodies, mouths pulled back into feral scavengers' grins.

They crawl on their bellies toward the bodies of Odin and Thor, mouths opening in something that looks like anticipation. Thick, ropy strands of blue-black saliva fall from their mouth.

One lands on Odin's arm, and it melts Odin's flesh like wax under a candle's flame.

Horrified, Loki leaps out from his hiding place-

-only to fall hard to the ground when he is hit from behind by some kind of magic.

He never saw it coming.

And now he's burning.

_Dying_.

All he can do is scream.

And scream.

xXx

He awakens to find his wrists burning beneath the binders and his magic burning in his mind.

And he screams.

And screams.

xXx

By the time Thor and Odin arrive at Loki's cell, having been summoned by an urgent call from one of the guards, Loki has already vanished.

One of the guards, hearing Loki's pained cries and seeing the charred, blackening skin of his wrists, had severed the chains.

A furious Odin turns to his firstborn and says simply, "Find him."

Thor merely nods and turns to leave.

xXx

_Thrown away  
__Have I been thrown away?  
_-VAST "Thrown Away"

A/N: Thanks for reading.


	4. Still I remind myself

A/N: Thanks again for reading, and again to the reviewers. It's much appreciated. This one's all plot, long, and talky. Tony has a very bad day. Enjoy.

3. **"Still I remind myself how I define myself."**

_Doesn't know how he fell this time – maybe got thrown, maybe stumbled, maybe it doesn't matter – but he knows he's in free fall and it's a long, long way down._

_Headfirst. Arms and legs flapping in a useless attempt to defy gravity._

_And he doesn't have his suit. It'll never get there in time._

_Falling forever and ever, down some dark hole._

_But he can see the bottom, all stony teeth and flat black pavement, and he knows – _knows_ – he's going to die._

_And, oh God, it's going to hurt._

_And now the ground is rushing up to meet him, and-_

Tony jerks awake, gasping, heartbeat thundering in his ears.

The room around him is dark and silent as a grave save the labored sounds of his breathing.

He kicks the covers away from him and swings his legs around so he's seated on the edge of the bed, hunched over, sweat-damp head in his hands.

_Just a dream_, he tells himself. _Just a dream._

An all-too-familiar refrain lately, but he's gotten used to it. It helps, anyway, as does the feel of the floor beneath his feet, solid and stable, as he stands up.

On autopilot, not really thinking much, he drifts over to stand by his balcony door.

Rain patters soft and steady against the glass, washing in from a blanket of bruised-looking purple clouds. Occasional licks of lighting brighten the sky, muted and too distant for thunder to be anything but a murmur.

Tony watches it while the last of his nightmare slides away from him like the beads of water sliding down off the windows. Sweat cools on his skin as his heart finally stops racing. He drags a hand over bleary eyes, sighs, and turns to pad back over to his closet. "Time's it, JARVIS?"

"Half past two a.m., sir," is the night-quiet reply. "You slept for one hour and-"

"Yeah, yeah, save it." He snags an old gray tee a shirt and slips it on. "Fire up the lab."

Because if a bunch of high school kids can figure out a way to keep an egg from breaking on the ground after they've thrown it off the roof of a building, he sure as fuck can figure out a way to keep his head from breaking on the ground after he's been tossed suitless off a building.

"Of course, sir," JARVIS says just then. "I would like to point out that this is the fourth consecutive night you've slept less than two hours. It is also the seventy-ninth night you've gotten less than-"

"Hey, spare me the stats, huh?" Tony says, since he just does not need the reminder. He's fuzzy-headed and gritty-eyed enough to know how little he's been sleeping lately. But it's nothing new: when he's burning away on an idea in the lab, he'll go for days on just a few hours' sleep. It's just the way his brain is wired.

Even now, as he heads into the bathroom, he can feel his mental gears beginning to turn over his little gravity problem.

_What nightmare?_

If the AI has any reply, Tony doesn't hear it.

xXx

He can't put a finger on the exact moment he becomes convinced today is going to suck – like _monumentally_ suck – but he's pretty sure it's between the fifth time JARVIS interrupts him to tell him somebody's on the phone and the time City in Texas shows up.

Five calls before seven a.m., and in the part of his brain that isn't consumed with designs for a type parachute small enough to be worn at all times (either that or some kind of wing suit that can be concealed under his clothes – and also doesn't make him look like a flying squirrel), he's starting to wonder if maybe he should actually take one of those calls instead of telling Jarvis to ignore them all.

Seven thirty finds him sitting back with his feet up on the table, studying at a couple of designs he thinks might work out okay. Well. Not so much "studying" as "staring at" while his thoughts drift and spin onto into the ether.

His way of meditating, he guesses, and it is pretty relaxing in a way, but-

He all but jumps out of his skin when he hears a sudden banging on the lab doors.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters. He takes a second to catch his breath – whoever's out there can fucking well _wait_ – and then says, "Shut everything down, JARVIS. I'm done."

"Yes, sir. Are you all right, sir? Your heart-rate is-"

"I'm fine_._ Just shut it down." When he's pretty sure his heart's pounding isn't going to dislodge the arc reactor (which, granted, can't actually happen, but still...), he rises and turns to head for the door.

City in Texas – _got to stop calling him that_ – is standing in the hall. He's a little taller than Tony, brown-haired and blue-eyed, honest-faced and wholly unremarkable, and old enough that he probably wouldn't appreciate the fact that Tony also thinks of him as "the kid."

Right now, the kid's face is red, hectic color-flares in acne-scarred cheeks. His forehead is pinched and puckered in that way way that means he's pissed, but he's trying very hard not to show it.

Pepper used to get the same look all the time, come to think of it.

Dallas waits only until Tony has shut the door to blurt, "I've been trying to get hold of you for an hour, Mr. Stark. We really need to talk."

Tony checks a sigh and heads up the stairs. "I need food," he says. "Walk and talk."

"There's food ready in the kitchen," the kid tells him. "But can you talk to me about _this_? This is what I've been calling you about."

Tony glances around when he feels a folded newspaper hit his arm. He grabs it and glances down at it. "Oh, hey," he says, smirking. "There I am."

It's a picture of him having a drink with a dark-haired young woman – model, maybe? – he vaguely remembers meeting at a boring soirée at some club the night before last. As pictures go, it's tame: he's not touching her, not even properly ogling her. He's standing a respectable distance away, and it kind of looks like he's listening to her, which – huh, how about that?

"Okay," he says at last. "Not seeing what I need to explain here."

"Did-? Look at the headline, sir."

Tony flips the paper over and reads. Blinks. Scowls. The words _Underage Model Claims Affair With Stark Industries CEO _continue to glare up at him. He scans the first bit of the accompanying article.

And nearly drops the paper when one word jumps out at him. "She was seventeen?"

"Yes, sir."

"Huh." Tony tosses the paper back at Dallas, who snags it and folds it back up. "Well, in the first place, she doesn't look seventeen. In the second place, it was a club so she probably had a fake ID or something to get in. In the third place, I didn't sleep with her, so, yeah, I mean, minor in possession aside, I don't really see the problem."

"You-? You didn't sleep with her." Dallas's eyes are narrowed with apparent skepticism. "She's saying you did."

"Then she's lying because I haven't had anybody back here in..." He frowns, thinking. "JARVIS, when _was_ the last time I had somebody back here?"

"Eleven days ago, sir," Jarvis replies. "I believe that's a new record."

"Wiseass." Tony returns his attention to his assistant. "In eleven days."

"Well, um." The hand not holding the newspaper crawls up the back of his neck. "The thing is, sir, she's saying you took her to a hotel room, so..."

"I never take them to hotel rooms. Why would I? I've got this." He makes an expansive gesture. "Before you ask, no I didn't have a blackout or anything. I talked to her once for all of five minutes, and that was it. I had maybe two drinks, and then I came home. Boring party. I think I was – JARVIS, what time did I get home? It was before midnight, right?"

"Eleven twenty-two, sir. You arrived alone and you went to work in your lab until you fell asleep at approximately three oh four a.m. If you wish, I can ready the security footage."

Tony shoots City in Texas a _there, see _sort of glare. "You can wipe that look off your face now."

Kid's mouth closes with a snap. His face reddens again. "I – I'm sorry, sir, he says. "I shouldn't have assumed..." He swallows. "It's not like it _couldn't_ have happened."

..._well, ouch_.

Worst part is, it's probably true.

Tony spins away abruptly and resumes his climb up the stairs, and if his feet hit each step harder than necessary, well, so what? "Just take care of it," he says without checking to see if Dallas is behind him. "What's on my schedule for the day?"

Quick, light footsteps race up behind him. "Mr. Stark, I am _so _sorry. I didn't mean it to sound like-"

"My schedule."

"Uh, right." There's a shuffling sound, and a few electronic clicks. Tony, having reached the kitchen, pauses beside the counter. "Here we go," Dallas says. "Okay, you have a board meeting at nine, a meeting with Norman Osborn at ten-thirty, lunch with Representatives Neil and Heller from the Energy Committee, and then you wanted to drop by the lab and check on those new modifications to the reactor prototype this afternoon."

Tony scrubs a hand over his eyes, scratches at his arc reactor, sighs. "Right. So reschedule Osborn and the lunch thing. I want lab time today."

Dallas grimaces, takes a breath. "Sir, you've rescheduled both of them twice now. And honestly? Considering what's going on with this girl, it's probably going to be best if, you know, you stick to business as usual. If you hole up in the lab all day, it might be taken as a sign you're trying to hide."

Try as he might, Tony can't find a decent counter to the point. "Fine," he says, pushing off the counter. "I'm going to go get cleaned up. You go take care of this crap."

"Don't you want breakfast, sir? I brought bagels. Or I could make you something if-"

"Yeah, not hungry anymore." The fist-sized knot in his stomach, tight and tense as it is, has pretty much killed his appetite. He pauses in the doorway and says, without looking around, "I don't care what you've heard or what you think you know. Don't ever make assumptions."

Pepper never would have, he thinks unkindly.

And he doesn't stick around long enough to hear the kid's reply.

xXx

The board meeting is essentially a repeat of his encounter with Dallas, only in stereo since he has nine other people in the room with him instead of just one skinny kid. It's a whole mess of of accusatory glares and rumblings about "proper image for this company" and snide questions. Thomas Andrews, his own COO, the absolute bastard, brings up the question of a possible police investigation, and that's the point when Tony slams his hand down on the table because _Jesus Christ_, what part of 'it didn't happen' and 'the whole thing is made up' don't they fucking _get_?

He's pretty sure they don't believe him, either.

Which feels like a punch in the balls because for the last three months, he's been doing pretty well: still out having fun, but being more careful about it, not drinking himself to the blackout point near as often, and certainly doing his best to make sure he knows who he's hitting on.

Playing the role of (sort of) responsible CEO, while not sacrificing his life, all so he can avoid awkward situations like this.

By the time he finally calls the meeting to an end, he feels like he's been dragged face down over a bed of broken glass, all chewed up and spit out and stinging from a thousand tiny cuts. All the innuendos and suggestions and the _looks_ like he's some kind of immoral asshole hellbent on ruining his own company, and it's like being a teenager and seeing his father's disappointment all over again.

The part that finally pushes Tony to cut everybody off is that it's not actually that big a fucking deal.

Some nobody little teenage model brags to the papers that she bagged Tony Stark, and suddenly he's in a room with a bunch of panicky, headless chickens, all of whom are more concerned how it looks for the company than finding out the truth of the matter.

As he walks away from the meeting, Tony half-wishes he could have just stayed up in space with the damn nuke.

So much nicer up there.

xXx

Thanks to the meeting running a little long and ridiculous traffic, he's almost fifteen minutes late to his meeting with Norman Osborn. Which doesn't improve his mood even a little.

Hell, it doesn't even _occur_ to him that he's meeting with Osborn at all until he's shown into a meeting room and sees the man himself stand up.

Osborn's somebody who has always moved in kind of a parallel orbit with Tony, so their paths haven't crossed that often. Once upon a time, they competed for defense contracts, but once StarkTech became the _de facto_ standard, Oborn shifted OsCorp's focus onto biotechnology and other chemically-related technology.

A tall, thin man with a severe crew cut and wide gaslight blue eyes set in an oddly skeletal face, Osborn towers over Tony when he reaches over to offer a hand.

"Sorry I'm late," Tony says. "Board meeting ran a little long."

"It's quite all right," Osborn replies. His smile makes his face look more human, at least. "I understand you've had an eventful morning."

Tony takes a seat and reaches for the water pitcher. "Another day, another smear campaign. Completely bogus, by the way."

They're in a small hotel's private conference room. It's neutral territory for both of them, and Tony finds he's desperately glad for that. As much as he'd rather yank his own teeth out than have to sit through another meeting today, at least this one comes with a change of scenery.

Osborn's smile widens as he sits back down. "I assumed so. It sounded too ridiculous to be true."

"Thank you." And, Jesus, leave it to a near-stranger to point out the obvious. Tony relaxes just a bit. "So. You wanted to talk to me."

"I did. I do, actually." Osborn has a kind of too-direct way of looking at people, of staring at them like he's trying to peel back their layers. Coupled with a vague smile and a long silence, the whole effect is just uncomfortable enough to tighten Tony up again.

"Okay," he finally prompts. "What about?"

Osborn rouses himself, blinks, and sits back. "Some disturbing news has come to my attention in the past couple days, and I wanted to pass it along to you personally. It hasn't been made public news yet, but four members of my board of directors have been implicated in a plan to steal proprietary company information and sell it overseas."

"Stealing-?" Tony sucks in a sharp breath, shakes his head. 'Well, that's great. Who were they selling it to?"

"We aren't sure yet," Osborn replies. "Now, the reason I wanted to bring this to you personally is because the more we've started digging into this, the more names we're connecting to the list of people involved here. We don't have anything concrete, but a couple of my implicated board members have hinted that there are at least three more companies involved.

"Now," he goes on, shifting again, "this is just a head's up. We don't know that anyone from Stark Industries is involved. But as you're a likely target..."

Tony props his elbow on the table and massages his forehead with his fingertips. He doesn't need a roadmap to figure out where this is going. "Yeah," he says, eyes squeezing shut. "Yeah, I got you. Jesus."

Because, hey, why not throw a little corporate espionage on top of everything else? It's like a bing cherry on top of the shit sundae today has been, and suddenly Tony's glad he hasn't eaten anything. He's pretty sure he'd probably just puke it back up. Tension grips the back of his neck like one of those grip-claw machines, squeezing and squeezing.

Osborn's chuckle is rueful. "Hell of a thing to have to drop on your plate right now, isn't it?"

Tony ignores that. Lowers his hands back down to the tabletop and lets his fingers drum in time with his irritation. "Who was it? And what kind of information were they stealing?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose who. But what I can tell you is that they they were planning to steal weapons schematics and blueprints, mostly, but a few chemical formulas, too. I know you're out of the weapons business, but your reactors – near unlimited clean energy – make a pretty attractive target."

"How long until you know who else is involved?"

"My investigators are digging as we speak. And if they find anything you need to know about, I will let you know."

"Any chance you'd let one of my guys take a look? A second set of eyes might help."

Not to mention it just makes sense: if Osborn found out who was dirty dealing in other people's companies, he could do all kinds of things with that information. Not that he probably would – Osborn's got a personal reputation as kind of a weirdo, but his business reputation as far as Tony's ever heard is pretty solid. Better than his own, at the moment. But the idea of a rival CEO controlling that kind of information on his own doesn't sit well with Tony.

A momentary frown flits across Osborn's face, small ripples on an otherwise still pond, before his expression smooths again. "Of course," he says with a banal smile. "I've invited all the companies I've talked to to bring somebody in. Have whoever you want to send over get in touch with my secretary. She'll make all the necessary arrangements."

"Good," Tony says. "Great. I'll do that."

"Excellent. Well, I won't keep you much longer. But I did want to just ask if you wouldn't mind keeping this to yourself." That flicker again, and a quick glance shot over a narrow shoulder. "I'd rather not get everybody thinking there's a big conspiracy theory, especially when it might turn out it's just an isolated incident."

For a guy who wants to avoid a rumor about a conspiracy theory, Osborn seems pretty paranoid, Tony can't help but observe, as Osborn flicks another quick glance around. Tucking that away for future reference, Tony nods and says, "I'll keep it quiet for now. Like you said, it could be nothing."

"Exactly."

Tony's cell phone goes off just then, startling them both as strains of "Real American" begin blaring through his pocket: _"__I am a real American/Fight for the rights of every man/I am a real American/Fight for what's right/Fight for your life!__**"**_

Cursing, Tony scrambles to get the damn thing out of his pocket. He's careful not to look at Osborn – at all – when he does.

The caller ID brings up the name "CAPSICLE." Tony snorts: he'd forgotten he'd done that. "Excuse me," he says to Osborn, rising. "I have to take this."

Osborn stands himself and says he needs to go, but that he'll be in touch. Tony nods and murmurs, "Thanks."

Only when the room's clear does Tony connect the call. "Captain!" he says. "Just in time. I'm in serious need of a rescue!"

xXx

Steve isn't calling to rescue him, though.

Far from it.

_The jerk_.

xXx

Two hours and one short plane right later, Tony finds himself waiting at yet another conference table for _yet another _meeting and wondering _how the hell_ he let Steve talk him into this.

It is absolutely not because Steve had said, quietly, "Please, Tony. I know you're busy and I know you're still upset with how things went before, but, well, from the sounds of things, this is pretty important." And it is certainly not because Tony was picturing some big-eyed puppy when Steve was saying this.

Nope.

Specifically, Tony is sitting alone at a conference table at S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, a place he planned to return to at the approximate time it would be possible to have snowball fights in hell.

So probably like never.

Only, hey, here he is again. Because it just seems in keeping with the downward trajectory of the day. His personal life is completely fucked up, there might be spies in his company, and now there's some new and potentially Earth-threatening new thing to contend with.

It is, he thinks, dragging a hand over his face and trying to shake his sluggish brain into something resembling alertness, so awesome that insomnia has chosen this past week to really make its presence felt. He sheds his jacket, brushes some dirt off his jeans, plucks at a stray thread on his shirtsleeve.

Fidgeting again. Waiting has never been his thing.

Nick Fury enters the conference room just then, acknowledges Tony with a curt not, and takes a seat across from him. Same guy, all in black, with the black eyepatch and serious _don't fuck with me_ air about him. "Mr. Stark," he says.

Tony laces his fingers together on the tabletop. "Director Fury. Where is everybody?"

"I sent the captain out to round them up. They'll be here shortly. Except Thor."

"Huh. Yeah, I guess... Do they even have phones on – uh, wherever Thor's from?"

"Asgard. And no, but we have ways to get in touch with him. We left him a message. He just hasn't gotten back to us."

"You left him a voice mail? Can you do that?"

Fury's grin is flat and hard. "You'd be amazed what we can do when we're motivated enough."

"Doubt it," Tony returns tightly. "I've seen what you can do. Wasn't impressed the first time." He sits back and regards Fury for a long moment. "Okay. So I'm here, and you're here. I'm guessing you wanted to talk to me before the rest of the kids showed up."

"Yes, I did." A head-tilt, and, "I see you've been busy."

"Well, yes. CEO and all. Multi-billion dollar company to run. Projects to oversee. New technology to develop. You know."

"Those self-destructive tendencies are still in place, too, from the looks of things."

Tony stares him down. "I'm a highly visible target, actually. And if you're talking about all that crap in the papers, you should know it's completely fabricated. Not that I don't appreciate everybody automatically assuming I'm guilty. Why am I here?"

A glint of dark humor in the one good eye, and, "Why are any of us here, Stark?"

"Don't get existential on me. I meant literally. What do you want?"

"I want you to sit there and listen. I'm not gonna apologize for the Tesseract. If you knew what was out there, you would have done the same."

"No, I wouldn't have. Got out of the weapons business, remember? I probably would have used it to power the world. Or, if I had to, to make some kind of _shield_ or something. Get it? Defensive weapon, not an offensive one."

_Get it?_

Fury waves him off. "My point is we did what we did. Maybe we were right, maybe we weren't. Doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is we're gonna need to be able to work together. I know you don't trust me, and I don't like you, but there's shit going down out there that's bigger than all this. So what's it gonna take to make this work?"

"Complete transparency," Tony says. Doesn't even need to think twice about that. "Also, can I get one of those leather coats?" They're kind of bad-ass.

"I don't think you have the stature to pull off the coat."

"Did-? That was a short joke."

"Yeah." Fury's eyebrows are lifted like _what of it_? "By transparency I assume you mean information."

"The more the better. Who you're working for, who they're working for, what my father was doing for you guys – all of it. If you actually expect us to trust you, then we need to know we're not in for any more nasty surprises. No more nukes. You know what I mean? And – by the way," he adds with a pointed look around the empty table, "why am I the only one having this conversation?"

Fury shrugs and gets up. "Because where you go, the Avengers follow."

"Wh-? No, I'm pretty sure we follow the captain."

"In the field, sure. But right now you're the one they're looking to for _overall_ direction."

"Oh. Huh. Like I'm the CEO of the Avengers."

_Hey, look at that_. And in a weird way, he guesses it's true. Kind of a cool thought.

Fury rolls his eye. "Don't let that go to your head, Stark. We can find ways to work around you if we have to. It's just in our best interest not to."

"So the information I want?"

"You think I'm really stupid enough to give you ammunition to try to take S.H.I.E.L.D down? Not happening. I'll give you some of the files I have on your father's projects, and a few other items of interest."

"It's more giving me the ammunition to hold you guys – whoever you are – accountable for your actions. You know, like the decision to shoot a nuke into the middle of New York City? _Somebody_ should have answered for that." He holds up a hand. "And don't try to feed me that 'pilot error' excuse again."

"Somebody a lot higher up than you or me did answer for it," Fury says. "The pilot was never charged with anything. Now, do we have a deal or not?"

"For now, I guess," Tony says. "I'll hear you out."

"All I ask." Fury leans over one a panel and hits a button. "We're ready here. Send them up."

Less than a minute later, the rest of the team _sans_ Thor troops through the same door Fury had entered before: Bruce first, looking tired and rumpled; Tasha and Clint together behind him, both in all black and both just as unreadable as ever; Steve last, tall and dignified and so clean-cut he makes the whole fucking room seem scruffy by comparison.

It's the first time they've all been in the same room together since the Loki ordeal. Tony had met up with Steve and Bruce a few times over the past couple months, but never had a chance to see Clint or Tasha, since the two of them had disappeared into some new spy game almost immediately. Bruce had gone back to tending the sick on the outskirts of civilization, while Steve had gone to work for another government agency on some projects he never got around to telling Tony about.

Tony'd found it odd, but he hadn't pushed.

There's little in the way of greeting. Everybody just nods and mutters hello like they're still strangers trying to figure out how the hell they fit together. They sit down, Bruce and Steve flanking Tony, with Tasha and Clint on Bruce's other side.

Once they're settled, Fury gets up and heads to the front of the room, near a laptop on a stand.

"So, listen," he says, "I know things didn't exactly go down smooth between all of us last time I brought you in. Don't expect any apologies. It got you guys together and acting as a team, which more than anything else was the point."

"The ends justify the means?" This an incredulous question from Tasha, whose eyebrows have practically disappeared into her hairline. "_That _is your excuse?"

"That wasn't an excuse," Fury tells her. "It was just a fact."

"Yeah?" Clint puts in. He's slouched back in his chair, arms crossed, a low-slung scowl shadowing his eyes. "Kind of like the _fact_ that you pretty much hung us out to dry last time? You remember that? Big bomb in the middle of a city? Ulterior motives?"

Fury glances at Tony. "Stark, I think the ball's in your court."

Tony shakes his head. "The hell it is. I told you I would hear you out, and that's what I'm gonna do. But I never said I'd try to convince everybody else to." He smirks. "Not happening."

A vein starts to pulse in Fury's forehead.

Both Bruce and Clint have turned to look at Tony, who's reveling in a feeling of vicious satisfaction at the sight of that vein. "Am I missing something?" Bruce asks him. "Why are you hearing him out?"

_You of all people_, Tony hears, and he tosses off a shrug. "I just want to know what's so urgent S.H.I.E.L.D. had to break down and ask us to come back in. Not that, you know, I'm looking forward to hearing any of this, but the way my day's going this is probably going to be a step up. Like I said, I'm not speaking for anybody but me here."

"No, no you're right," Steve says, quiet and earnest. Real voice of reason. "I think I can safely say that's why we all came. I know trust is a big thing for us right now, but-"

"But let's trust them anyway?" Clint asks. "That's a good plan you got there, Captain. That worked out _so well_ last time." He shakes his head and looks back up at Fury while Steve shrinks back in his chair. "Whatever. Look, just say whatever you have to say, all right? We can figure the rest out once we know score."

"Fair enough," Fury says. "Two weeks ago, we started picking up some strange energy surges at various places around New York. Small surges at first, and when we investigated we didn't find anything. Until about a week ago, when we went to the source of one of these we found this."

He hits a few keys on the laptop and an image of a big blue and gold parrot-looking bird fills the screen. It's perched on top of a streetlight, just as innocent as you please.

"The next time we had a surge, we found these."

In the bird's place is a pair of what look like chipmunks – if chipmunks were the size of Labrador Retrievers.

"And the next one, we found this."

A cat, this time. Huge and blue, it appears to be stalking a flower delivery van.

"Wait, wait, wait," Tony interjects. "Hang on a second. You're telling me you dragged us all here because you've got a bunch of _animals_ popping up in random places?"

"Animals from somewhere _other_ than Earth, Stark," Fury says. "Coming from some kind of portal."

"Right. Got all that. But we're talking about animals."

Fury skewers him with a glare. "The last thing that came through was about the size of a van and it killed two of my agents before we finally cut it the fuck down." He taps a few keys on the laptop and the big screen fills up with an image of a bear-like creature, which to Tony's thinking is actually more the size of a small school bus than a van. Either way, it's dark and ugly and clearly dangerous – exactly the way he'd describe the look Fury is giving him. "Now, _do you mind_?"

Tony blinks, sits back. "...oh. No. Uh, go ahead."

"These energy readings are getting stronger," Fury says. "They're getting bigger and they're coming closer together. Trouble is, we don't know where they're coming from. That was why I asked Thor to come in."

"Are we looking at gamma signatures again?" Bruce asks. His face is tight, mouth a white-slash line.

"Not this time, no," Fury says. "We've never seen energy signatures like this before. Which is good because it's easy for us to track them, but it's bad because, like I said, we haven't figured anything else about them – how to predict them, what kind of energy they _are, _where they're coming from. When we get done here, I'd like you and Stark to head on up to the lab and take a look at our readings. See if you two can figure something out.

"The rest of you," he goes on, "I just want to keep on standby in case more of these things open up. Like I said, the things that are coming through keep getting bigger and badder. We'll probably need all the help we can get.

"We're monitoring for those energy signatures, so if any of them come up, we'll call you."

Tasha frowns. "You want us to just stay here?"

"For a now, yeah. If it slows down, then we'll see about setting up a way to just call you in. I realize some of you actually have day jobs."

Tony sketches a little salute just as his phone buzzes.

He pulls it out while either Steve or Bruce asks Fury another question, and frowns down at it. It's a text message from Dallas: _Can you call me ASAP? We have a problem._

Well, of course they do.

When he looks up again, everybody's watching at him. He takes a breath and smiles. "So are we done?" he asks, gesturing at his phone. "My day job needs me. Urgent."

Fury waves him off. "For now."

"Thanks." Tony rises and heads out into what has to be the blandest, most boring hallway he has ever seen: it's all beige on beige, so neutral it might not even exist. He has no illusions of privacy, not in this place, but at least it's quiet.

City in Texas picks up after the second ring. "Mr. Stark!" he says in tones of deep relief. "Thanks for getting back to me so fast."

"Sure." Tony leans back against a wall and lets his eyelids drift shut. Fatigue like weight on his shoulders, and he doubts he'll have trouble sleeping tonight. "What's going on?"

"The whole situation with the girl," is the terse reply. "We have a problem. Apparently there's actually some security footage of you getting into an elevator with her floating around. It's from the Four Seasons that night."

"The Four Seasons? What the f-? I've never stayed there." Can't even remember the last time he's been there, come to think of it. He scrubs a hand over his chin. "Did you see the footage?"

"Yeah, I did. And the picture's not great, but it definitely could be you." There's a pause, then in a tone he might use to waken a sleeping child, he says, "Sir, are you _sure _you didn't just – I don't know – maybe have one too many? Maybe you forgot? I know you haven't been sleeping that well..."

"I'm not having blackouts, if that's what you're suggesting." Tony forces himself to unclench his free hand. "I remember everything very clearly because, as I said, I had two drinks. If you want specifics, I had scotch and water. Two of them, in about two hours. I was almost completely sober when I went home. And by the way, did you check _my_ surveillance footage?"

"You – ah, you must have had JARVIS lock everything down before you left. I couldn't even get in to get it. Could you...?"

"Oh. Yeah, that's right, I did. I'll get that fixed here in a second. Is there any kind of time stamp on the Four Seasons video? Is there any record of what room she went in? Who paid for it? What name it was registered under?" Tony shakes his head. "You know what? Do me a favor and get Cecil on this, would you? In fact, just have him call me. I'll line him out myself."

On this and the tip Osborn threw him.

"Okay, sure," the kid says. "I'll do that."

"How's the mood around the office?"

"Tense. Especially now that you've disappeared. I don't suppose-"

"Nope. Iron Man stuff. Clear out my schedule for the rest of the week. If there's anything urgent, you can shoot me a text or leave me a voice mail. Keep me up to speed on this other thing."

"Right. Well, uh, be careful, I guess. And good luck."

"Yeah, thanks." Tony ends the call. He taps out the codes to restore Dallas's access to JARVIS, and then drops the phone into his pocket. He lets his head fall back against the wall, lets his gaze wander up to the ceiling, tries to will the tension at the base of his neck to go away.

Steve pokes his head around the corner. "Oh, hey, there you are," he says. "Fury just told us they actually have all the animals they've caught here. We're going to head down to see them. Want to come?"

"Uh, sure," Tony says. "I'll be right there."

"Is everything okay? You look tense."

"I'm fine. Work stuff. I don't want to talk about it."

"Is – does it have anything to do with what was in the papers this morning? The girl?"

Tony winces, looks away. "That. This. Other things. Just been one of those days, you know?" He shoves away from the wall. "Come on. Let's go check out Fury's petting zoo."

He doesn't miss the way Steve's gaze lingers, the way those troubled blue eyes just keep watching, but he pretends not to notice.

xXx

Tony finds he's actually glad for the distraction.

He's not big animal guy, but it gives them something to do.

The animals all appear to be pretty docile, which is a far cry from the snarling beats he'd been expecting. The bird is calm in its cage, the chipmunk-things are asleep in their pen, and the cat, which is just ridiculously huge and _blue_, is rolling around on its back like it's trying to scratch an itch.

Steve's actually grinning at it, this delighted, boyish grin that puts Tony in mind of a kid at a zoo.

When Steve sees Tony looking at him, he blushes and looks away. "_What_? It's...cute."

"Yeah," Tony says, "cute. In a half-ton I-can-eat-your-face-for-breakfast kind of way." He looks back over at the cat. It has two very long almost stalk-like projections out of the top of his head and long fangs like a prehistoric tiger's. Looks strange, especially with that odd blue-purple fur and intelligent eyes, but it's actually kind of cool.

It kind of reminds him of a cat he'd seen in a comic book once, and for the life of him...

"Bubastis," he says aloud. That was it.

"_What_?" This from Clint, who'd been looking at the chipmunk things with Tasha. "Did you just say 'boob-ass-tits'? Man, I knew you were freaky, but _damn_." He yelps when Tasha punches his arm. "Ow! What? That's what he said! 'Boob-ass-tits.'"

"He said _Bubastis,_ Clint," Bruce says, shaking his head. "She was a comic book character. A genetically engineered – what was it? A leopard?"

Tony shoots Bruce a quick, grateful grin. "She was a lynx. Big cat, either way. You see what I mean?"

"The ears, yeah," Bruce says. "The way those things stick out."

"He belongs to my mother," a quiet voice rumbles from behind them. "My father gave him to her, along with another, to pull her chariot."

Startled, Tony turns. "Thor! Hey, you're here."

There's an awkward moment where everybody sort of clusters around Thor, and nobody really says anything except 'hello' and Thor sort of just stares back at them, all lowered brows and disquiet in normally bright eyes. He's dressed in full armor, a red cape trailing behind him, and a winged helmet tucked under one arm.

Steve finally breaks up the moment by offering Thor a wide smile. "It's good to see you again," he says. "How are you?"

"Well enough," Thor replies. "I have been informed that there have been – incidents here recently."

"Looks like. We're not sure what we're dealing with, though. I think the director was hoping you could shed some light on the subject."

"I can, I think," Thor says. "It is why I've returned." He sweeps the room in a glance, and says, "Loki has escaped. And it may well be that he is the one responsible for this."

Because, hey, it's not like the day couldn't possibly get any worse.

And doesn't that just figure, Tony thinks wearily.

Doesn't it fucking _just_?  
xXx

_Blessed with a curse  
Hoping not far  
Deeper, the better  
I needed  
I needed to know  
I needed  
I needed to know why  
Oh no, this can't be happening  
-_Karnivool, "Deadman"

A/N: Bubastis was Adrian Veidt's genetically engineered lynx in _Watchmen_. "Real American" is Hulk Hogan's theme music from waaaaay back in the day Thanks for reading.


	5. Scramble to reach higher ground

A/N: Big thanks to the readers and reviewers. Y'all are awesome! Tony and Loki. Crossing paths and such. Buckle up. Enjoy!

4. **"Scramble to reach higher ground. Order and sanity, something to comfort me."**

Loki is kneeling again.

In a place far removed from Asgard, from Midgard, from _sanity_.

Loki is kneeling again in a widening pool of his own blood. The smell of it, metallic and thick, would have made him gag had he been aware enough to match scent to source.

But through the howling fire lighting his every nerve from within, such a simple connection is beyond him.

All he knows is agony.

His body is a ruin of broken bones and shredded skin and eviscerated organs, and the only reasons he's even still alive is because he has not lost his hold on his magic. Its healing energies are attempting to pull the tattered edges of organs and skin back together, to staunch the bleeding, to knit bones. But even that is failing him, however, as the room's two occupants before him have begun to fade behind a hazy red curtain. The damage is simply too great.

And all he can think is that he has made the biggest mistake of his life, coming here.

Possibly the last he'll make.

The Other had not been merciful.

Thanos himself had stood to the side, massive and silent, eyes burning like suns as he watched the Other make Loki pay for his failure. His vicious smile had not once slipped.

Now, though, now the two figures before Loki are indistinct, fading, and the horrible weight of his folly has begun to settle on him like the hand of Death herself.

Drawing on the very last of his strength, he manages to lift his head – difficult to do with what must surely be a broken neck – and forces himself to focus as best he can through slitted, swollen-over eyes. "Please," he says, the words no more than a strengthless whisper. "No more."

"You dare ask for mercy?" The Other's voice is a hissing rasp behind a mask, dark and hinting at things that send a tiny creeper of fear down Loki's spine. "You, who failed us?"

Blood coats the back of his throat when he swallows. "Y-Yes," he whispers. "And _no_."

It's Thanos himself who answers. His voice like rocks grinding in an earthquake. "Which is it, godling?"

"Your army. Failed _me_. I failed to anticipate. The _Avengers_." The blood-spattered word falls like a curse through his ruined lips. "We all. Failed to protect. The Tesseract."

"You said humans were _weak_," the Other hasps at him. In the cold void of his voice, there is nothing at all. "You told us conquering their planet would be _simple_. You misled us."

Loki's chest hitches, bone grinds on bone, and he coughs up another mouthful of blood. His grip on his magic slips again, those clawing fingers sliding slowly into what would surely be a welcome oblivion.

But.

"I was _mistaken_." There is a difference, and it must be said. "Mistakes can be remedied. That is why. I sought you out. Rather than try to hide. Because I wish to. Make amends."

Thanos – the bright-eyed blur to Loki's right – crosses his massive arms. "Your _death_ would be sufficient reparation. A fitting tribute."

"But useless. I can still. Show you how. To conquer the humans."

"I have plans of my own for the humans, godling," is the terse reply. "I do not need yours."

The Other hisses, "You are useless. You have nothing to offer. You have no real power. You have nothing. _You are nothing_."

Abandoned child. Prodigal son. Failed hero. Failed conquerer.

Nothing.

_Nothing at all_.

Loki closes his eyes, loosens his grip on his magic even further. Welcoming the abyss.

"Your death would be sufficient reparation," Thanos says again, "but I will not grant you that mercy. Take your worthless life and go. _Suffer_. Pray that we never cross paths again, or I will show you such pain as you have never known before. You will _beg_ me for death. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Loki rasps. He does not open his eyes.

He summons the last of his magic back to him and uses it to transport him away from that forsaken place.

When at last he reaches the safety of his hiding place, he collapses.

And the last thing he thinks before he passes out in a heap of twisted limbs and shredded clothing is, _That went well._

xXx

Four a.m., and Tony's alone in a lab that isn't his.

Granted, he's not actually _doing_ anything, just sitting with his feet kicked up on the table and his laptop open in his lap. The only thing on the laptop's screen is an email he'd gotten from City in Texas sometime around ten o'clock last night.

"She's claiming she took some video of you and her on her cell phone camera," the message reads. "She says everything goes away for $5 million. Time stamp on the hotel footage is 9:56. Time stamp on what I got from Jarvis starts at 11:22. Nothing before that. So how do you want to play this? Let me know. -D."

Tony can practically see the unwritten '_So there was plenty of time, you lying scuzzball_.'

The hell of it is, he has no idea what he was doing at nine fucking fifty-six that night, but he knows – knows as surely as he knows his own name – that he _was not_ kissing some seventeen-year-old girl in an elevator.

Christ, he still doesn't even know her _name_.

He'd seen the footage himself, and, okay, he'd had to admit he'd seen the resemblance. The guy in the elevator was wearing the same dark jacket and jeans Tony favored when he went out, was wearing similar sun glasses, and has a goatee and dark hair. He seems a little on the tall side, but it's hard to say whether that's because of the weird angle and less-than-sharp footage or not.

Superficially, at least, the resemblance is close enough that if Tony wasn't so sure he'd never been in that elevator, he might start to question himself – _except_ that the guy makes it a point never to look at the camera.

There's no clear shot of his face, which as far as Tony's concerned means the whole thing is bogus.

He drags a hand across his eyes and lets his head fall back so he's staring up at the ceiling.

It's a stupid thing to be worrying about, probably, considering there's the problem of the energy surges – something neither he nor Bruce had been able to make any more sense of than S.H.I.E.L.D. had, even with Thor's input – and the Loki problem, but it's the one thing in this giant ocean of chaos that just burns him.

That, and nothing is actually going on.

The only thing Thor had been able to tell them about Loki was that Loki had stolen the animals at the same time as he'd stolen some Casket of Ancient Somethingorother and his staff back. The animals he'd stolen either to create a diversion so he could steal the other stuff or, more likely in Tony's opinion, just because he wanted to thumb his nose at everybody.

Which, while kind of funny, didn't tell them much. Thor had no idea where Loki went, was just guessing Earth because all the animals had ended up here.

After an unproductive few hours' work, and since it had stayed quiet, they'd all decided to call it a night and try again first thing in the morning.

Tony'd tossed and turned until about one a.m., slept fitfully until two-thirty, and had given up on sleep altogether at three. When he'd gotten down to the lab, he saw that nothing had changed in four hours, so he decided to settle in and check his emails, something he hadn't bothered to do yesterday.

Which, of course, was when he'd seen the one from Dallas.

It's times like this he misses Pepper the most: this never would have gotten this far if she'd been running the show.

Just as he's getting around to wondering how she's doing, he hears a throat clear in the doorway. He glances up and says, "Morning," as Steve takes a few tentative steps into the room. "You're up early."

Steve's wearing sweat pants, sneakers, and a tee shirt, and looks far too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for this unholy hour. "Yeah," he says quietly, "I was going to try to get in a workout before things got too hectic today. You haven't been down here all night, have you?"

Tony stretches out, shakes his head. "I got up an hour or so ago."

"Anything happening?"

"Nope. Quiet so far."

"That's good." Steve wanders over to the empty stool next to Tony and sits down, gingerly, feet perched on the stool's lower bar. There's something oddly boyish in his posture, something young in the rounded hunch of his shoulders, and in the way he stares down at the floor when he says, "So."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "_So_."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Why?"

"Tony."

"Steve."

Steve sighs, glances up. "You're going to make me ask. All right. So what happened? This thing with the girl. You were doing so well."

"I'm doing _fine_."

"This-"

Tony snaps the laptop shut. "_Nothing _happened." _You judgmental asshole._ "She's just another gold-digging freeloader trying to use the press to get money out of me. But, hey, thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt, Cap. Appreciate it." He rises and heads for the door. His whole body feels clenched tight, like a fist held closed too long.

Thing is, it's his own fault: his reputation gets him every fucking time.

Behind him, Steve says, "You're right. I'm sorry. I should have waited until I heard the whole story."

"Yeah," Tony says without heat. "Yeah, you should have."

"It's really not true, huh? She just made it up? Why would she do that?"

"People do all kinds of things for money in this day and age. Way of the world." Tony glances around with raised eyebrows. Finds Steve staring pensively at the floor. "Speaking of which, are you gonna tell me where you've been working these past few months?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D." Steve lifts his chin, meets Tony's gaze without flinching. "I didn't have anything to go back to, and they needed help on a few things. It worked out." His expression softens. "And I _am_ sorry. Look, if you need to talk..."

Tony, finding his anger has already begun to fade, waves that last off. "I'm, uh, I'm going to go try to catch a few more hours' sleep," he says. "Let me know if anything comes up."

"Will do."

As he heads back up to his bunk, Tony finds himself wondering why he's suddenly feeling guilty.

xXx

He doesn't sleep, just lies awake in a cramped bunk, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing does, though.

xXx

After checking in with Cecil Wilkes, head of Stark Industries' security and the man Tony'd chosen to send over to work with Norman Osborn's investigators, Tony calls his assistant.

Says curtly, "I'm not paying her. End of discussion."

There's a pause, almost like Dallas is counting to ten. "Sir," he says, controlled and careful, and Tony can just picture him strangling the phone, "I know you don't want to admit to anything here, but the longer this drags on, the more ammunition the Board is going to have to vote you out. They're already talking about setting up an emergency meeting."

Nonplussed, Tony can only glare at the ugly gray carpet. An emergency meeting.

For _this_?

"When?" he finally asks.

"Nine o'clock Monday morning," Dallas says. "I know you're busy with your Iron Man stuff, but if there's any way you can be here..."

It's Thursday, Tony thinks. _Thor's Day_, his mind supplies, and, hey, look at that. "Yeah," he says. "Unless something world-ending is happening, I will be there."

"Is-? That's not gonna happen, is it?"

"What? No. Why would you think that?"

"Oh. Well, you know. That seems to be a thing with Iron Man. I was just making sure." Dallas clears his throat. "Uh, look, something else just came up about your little, ah, well, with the girl's story. Apparently there was a hotel room registered to a T. Stark that night. Paid for in cash."

"Of course there was," Tony mutters, because _of course there was_. That clenched-fist feeling again, pressure building behind his eyes.

"I talked to a couple people in the legal department a bit ago," Dallas goes on, tone dry and factual, like he's unaware that his boss is on the verge of a stroke, "and they think we should get the girl and her parents in to at least start the discussions. If she can actually produce the videos-"

"She can't."

"-then they think we should pay. Make everybody sign non-disclosure agreements and leave us plenty of room to sue them if we can prove it's bogus."

There's something in the kid's tone which suggests he doubts that's even a possibility.

_God dammit_.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "Okay. All right. Fine. Set them up for Monday, too. Afternoon."

"I will, sir," Dallas says, and the relief in his voice makes Tony's free hand curl into a fist. "Thank you."

"Uh-huh. What else?"

"Uh. I had Dr. Keith send over the revised specs for the reactor prototype. He was hoping to get approval on those today. Everything else can wait until you get back."

"All right, thanks." Tony hangs up the phone.

And promptly turns to drive his fist into the wall.

He pulls the punch at the last second, so he doesn't break his hand, but it still hurts like a bastard. His knuckles are busted open, blood oozing bright red down the back of his hand.

"_Son of a bitch_," he mutters.

xXx

"Well, hey, if it isn't Sleeping Beauty," Clint says when Tony enters the lab. He's hovering over Bruce's shoulder, watching something on the computer screen. "So much for that early start, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tony mutters. It's well after ten, but he's past giving a shit. "Good morning to you, too." He glances around the room. "Where's everybody else?"

"Thor went to take all those animals home," Clint replies. "Said he'd be back shortly. And Fearless Leader went to have a little sit-down with Fury. I don't know what about. There's breakfast, if you want." He gestures at the table, where Tony sees a box of donuts, some fruit, and, most importantly, coffee.

Tasha's sitting at the other end of the table, leafing through a file. She smiles a greeting when Tony passes her, but the smile fades when Tony reaches for the coffee carafe and a cup. "What happened?"

Tony sees her looking at his swollen knuckles, and shrugs. "Slammed it in the door." He finishes pouring himself coffee, snags a donut, and turns to address Bruce, moving quickly to avoid Tasha's gaze. "So. Anything?"

Bruce keeps his attention on the screen. "No. There's just no pattern here."

"Yeah. Saw that. But if it's Loki, there probably won't be one. Bag of cats, remember?"

"You know, I've been thinking about that," Bruce says. He meets Tony's gaze with a thoughtful frown. "How we can confirm it's him, I mean. You didn't happen to get any readings from him when he was doing magic before, did you? Because if you did-"

"We might be able to compare energy signatures." Tony nods and pulls out his phone. "Yeah, let me check on that." He hooks into his home system and sends JARVIS to dig through the suit readings.

"Would _they_ have it?" Tasha asks, gesturing to the room at large. Meaning S.H.I.E.L.D.

"That's a good question," Bruce says. "I'll find out."

"Hey, Tony," Tasha says, "these are yours by the way." She points at a small, clear plastic tote. It's marked "STARK' on the outside. "Director Fury brought them. They're files on projects your dad was working on. I've kind of been looking through them. Hope that's okay."

"Uh, yeah," Tony says, frowning. It's not okay, of course it's not okay, and if he wasn't afraid he'd get his ass kicked a hundred ways 'til next Wednesday, he'd even say so. "Yeah."

Tasha, smiling like she knows better, closes the file and tucks it away. She rises and glances behind her. "Clint, want to hit the gym? I need to burn off some energy."

Clint's eyes light up and the grin he flashes Tasha is just _dirty_. "Sure," he says. "I would absolutely love to go burn off some energy with you."

"Would you _stop_?"

"_What_? I'm saying yes. Let's go _work out_ together."

Even Tony rolls his eyes at that, and he stuffs enough donut into his mouth to make commenting impossible. He does, however, smirk when he catches Bruce rolling _his_ eyes. Because _seriously._

For the next hour or so, things are quiet.

Bruce and Tony work like they always do: all talk focused on the work, and nothing but. There is a deliberate and careful avoidance of anything like smalltalk or topics that could be considered personal, and Tony, as always, is grateful for that. He and Bruce get that about each other: that when they'd rather work, they'd rather _work_ and not deal with anything external to that.

Tony manages to push all the other crap onto the back burner for a while, and for the first time in a couple days, he doesn't feel like he's walking around with a giant anvil about to fall on his head.

So, naturally, that's when the alarm goes off.

xXx

The energy surges, which Fury hilariously describes as "fucking _massive_," are centered over Washington D.C., which is where the entire team, including the newly-returned Thor, finds itself twenty minutes later.

The word 'clusterfuck' doesn't even begin to describe it.

There are two of them: one near the Washington Monument, to which Cap takes Thor and Widow, and one in the middle of the city proper, which Tony, Hulk, and Hawk all head off to handle.

It's not animals this time, though.

This time, it's these beach-ball sized glowing green things that explode on contact with anything.

Tony, hovering about five hundred feet above a downtown city street, decides he'd much rather have the animals.

The green things streak across the sky in a line, dozens at a time, some dropping short and some carrying for four or five blocks, all of them causing havoc in the street below. People are running through rubble, cars are on fire, and tall buildings quickly become pitted.

Tony and Hawk both start shooting the things down, Tony from between a couple of buildings and Hawk from a rooftop perch, but it doesn't do much good: the fragments stay just as explosive, and the damage they do to the area spreads.

Hulk uses a semi-trailer like a baseball bat, sending them up rather than down, but that lasts only until two of them hit the trailer in quick succession and the whole thing explodes in his hands. The green guy's thrown backward into a building, and he's wobbly when he gets up.

"We need to clear everybody out now!" Cap tells fury, urgency driving every word. "Whatever these things are, they're going to destroy this whole area."

"We copy," Fury replies. "Evacuation's already underway."

"Hurry," Cap says. "Tony, I've sent Thor to the source to see if he can do something about it. Can you head to the the source of yours?"

"On it," Tony says. He spins around and pushes off the side of a building, speeding around a corner and into an open lane parallel to the green things. "JARVIS, can you get me a lock on the source?"

"Calculating." After the briefest pause: "Setting coordinates now, sir."

Tony looks at the HUD. The coordinates show it's less than a quarter of a mile ahead. "Scan that area," he says. "Any signs of life?"

"Scan is negative."

He angles up to avoid flying into a power line. "What about machinery? Anything non-human?"

"Nothing, sir, although I do detect high levels of mystical energy."

"Mystical energy. _Magic_." Tony growls the word like it's a curse.

Because some days, it really is.

He darts around a tall brick building, spins to dodge a runaway line of those green things, and-

_There_.

Some kind of snap-crackling white thing down in the middle of the goddamn street, about the size of of a manhole cover, and bright like a piece of the sun has split itself off. The green things shoot straight out of it.

Its energy readings are off the chart.

"Yeah, okay, I found the source," he says into his 'comm. He hovers just above and behind it. "Looks like some kind of portal or something. Big and white."

He takes aim at it and fires a rocket. The rocket sails right through it and blows up an SUV.

"Um," he says, "so, uh, shooting these things? Yeah, that doesn't work. Any ideas how we're supposed to shut them down?"

"We're working on it," Fury tells him. "Just keep sending us your readings. Hold tight."

"Hold tight. Okay. Sure. I'll do that. Hey, Hawk, we're supposed to hold tight. How's it going on your end?"

"Running out of arrows here," Hawk replies curtly. "Hulk had another truck blow up on him, but I think he's okay."

"Right. Well-"

"Sir," JARVIS interrupts, "scanners detect a non-human life form in your immediate vicinity."

"Show me," Tony says, the video display screen zooms in on a nearby roof. There's a flicker of something red and black, like smoke.

Without even thinking about it, Tony launches up after it. "I got something here," he tells the others. "Life form of some sort. I'm going to check it out."

"Copy that," Fury says. "We're on you."

"Be careful," Steve adds.

"Will do."

He touches down on the roof, near where his scanners show there's some kind of energy.

By the time he realizes it's a trap, it's far too late.

Something he never sees slams into him with the force of a bulldozer, and he flies across the roof, landing in a heap against a fire escape door. Before he has even had a chance to process the chance in scenery, he's lifted up and slammed down into the rooftop, twice, three times, hard enough that he can feel his helmet buckle, hard enough head starts ringing and stars flicker and flash in front of his eyes and his teeth come together painfully on his tongue.

There's static in his ears.

He's flung into the fire escape door again, hard enough that the thing gives under him, and he tumbles backward down a flight of stairs. Lands hard against a railing, and his shoulder starts to howl.

That unseen force picks him up again and hauls him up out of the stairwell, back out to the roof.

All at once, his suit goes completely rigid, every joint frozen and immobile.

He's facing the sky so he doesn't see what happens next. He hears an explosion. Feels the rumbling against his suit.

And feels himself flung off the building.

There's static in his ears. No comm. No JARVIS. No repulsors. No power. The small onboard oxygen tank has stopped functioning. The suit's joints refuse to move even a little.

He's in free fall, trapped in the coffin of his suit, heavy slabs of what he recognizes as a building falling with him, chunks of concrete and glass plinking off the suit's back and arms and head.

He can see the ground rushing toward him – he's facing down now– and he thinks, numbly, helplessly, _I'm gonna die, oh God, I'm gonna die..._

Somehow, he's always known this was how it was gonna-

All of a sudden, he hears what sounds like spark, and feels electricity crackle over his skin. His vision of the – _too fucking close – _ground below becomes obscured in a flash of green-white light.

And instead of crashing down to the ground with ten tons of building slamming down on top of him, he finds himself landing with a teeth-jarring, head-whapping, but definitely _not _terminal thump on the pavement, well clear of any debris.

His suit comes back to life after a few seconds, the HUD flickering a few times before the familiar blues fill his field of vision. His joints unlock enough that he's able to at least _flail_ for a second before finding the actual coordination necessary to push himself to his hands and knees.

"Sir?" JARVIS almost sounds concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Tony replies. "I'm okay."

Which is a lie: his head is throbbing, something's probably broken in his shoulder, and his kneecap feels like it's gotten jammed sideways somehow.

But that's all fairly minor compared to the fact that he's _absolutely not dead_.

"Sir, my scanners indicate you're injured. I suggest you remain where you are. Your teammates will arrive in approximately six minutes."

"I'm _fine_, I said," he snaps, and he pushes to his feet. His knee buckles, but the suit keeps him from staggering.

He misses JARVIS's reply because when he sees who's standing in front of him, watching him, he freezes in place.

_Oh. _

_Fuck_.

Of course.

Green energy-thingies appearing out of a portal-thingy?

Loki.

Because seriously – who else?

(It doesn't register as important at that particular moment, but Tony _does_ notice something odd about Loki's appearance: he's wearing a dark green long-sleeved shirt, a pair of black jeans, and black boots. No cape, no fancy costume, and no antlers on his head.)

Loki's mouth is a line, but he says nothing. He merely turns away and walks over to the portal, which somehow they've mysteriously ended up. Tiny details jump out at Tony: streaks of dust in Loki's hair and on his clothes, bloody cuts on the sides of his hands, a long tear in the back of of his shirt.

Older bruises and cuts all over his face, too, like he'd just stepped out of a meat grinder.

Before Tony can even gather his wits enough to ask what the fuck Loki's doing, Loki pauses beside the energy-thingy. He lifts his hands so they're bracketing it on either side. They begin to glow green, and continue to glow as he bring them together the way Tony brings his own hands together when he's shrinking a display on his computer monitor.

As he does, the portal shrinks until it disappears altogether.

Once it's gone, Loki shoots Tony a quick, unreadable look and disappears.

...stark?

...Tony?

"_Stark!_ Yo! Iron Man, anybody home?" Voice in his ear, maybe Clint's, and Tony starts.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. I'm here. Uh. What's – where are you guys?"

"We're heading your way. Looks like the green things stopped. What did you do?" Clint sounds as tired as Tony feels.

"Uh." Tony blinks, frowns. "I didn't do anything. Don't bother heading my way, all right? I'll come to you." He launches into the air. "So, anyway, uh, not to cause a panic or anything, but Loki was just here. Gone now, though."

"Loki?" Clint snaps. "_Motherfucker_. Where did he go?"

"I don't know." Tony's head has begun to pound in earnest, a drilling jackhammer against the inside of his forehead, and it's making it difficult for him to think. "I'll be there in a second."

"Guys, our portal just closed down, too," Steve cuts in just then, his voice as thick with weariness and relief as Clint's had just been. "We're at the Washington monument, if you want to just meet us there."

"Will do," Tony says.

"What the heck happened, Tony?" Steve asks. "And what was that about Loki?"

Tony zips around a scarred building and sees Hulk and Clint walking together through the chewed-up, pock-marked streets. Looks like a fucking war zone, he thinks, full of dead cars and damaged buildings and downed trees.

Here and there, he can see bodies – not many, but enough to make his gut roll. S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles, fire trucks, and cop cars are swarming all over the place like so many brightly-flashing insects.

_Fuck_.

"Tony?" Steve prompts. "You there?"

Tony blinks, banks around a light post. "Yeah, sorry. Just looking at all the damage. Ah. Yeah, I kind of walked into a trap. Got a little banged up, but I'm okay. I'll explain once I'm on the ground."

Because, really, he's not looking forward to explaining how he not only managed to walk into a trap, but how he got his ass saved by the same god who fucking threw him out a window.

"Avengers!" Fury's voice cuts in just then, the word sharp and hard and practically vibrating with alarm. "We just picked up another energy surge. This one's near the White House. Get there _now_."

"Tony, you're probably closest," Cap says. "Get there as fast as you can."

"Yeah," Tony mutters, pressing down to try to squeeze a little more juice out of his repulsors.

Although it's designed so that the weight doesn't encumber him, Tony finds there are days when the Iron Man suit seems to weigh a ton.

"JARVIS," he says, "suit response is feeling a little sluggish. Run a quick diagnostic, would you?"

"All systems are functioning normally, sir. You, on the other hand, appear to have suffered a mild concussion. Perhaps that would explain it?"

_Bastard_.

It's just this sick-dull throb over his eye, silvery bright, a steady, thrumming tattoo he'd about kill never to feel again. Nausea's a bitch, too, making his stomach pitch and yaw when he banks hard around a building.

He swallows it back the best he can and presses on.

Up ahead, he spots the first telltale sign that something is wrong: people stampeding through the streets like a flock of panicky sheep. No fireballs or anything that he can see, but he doesn't doubt it's coming.

It always comes.

Muttering under his breath, he speeds off in the direction the crowd is coming from, and sure e-goddamn-nough, there's another one of those white energy-thingies. It's just inside the White House fence, and it looks to be about four times the size of the other one. There's already a whole _army_ of large, wheeled robots ringed around the front of the White House, just inside the fence. Others, these tall and thin and bipedal instead of wheeled, are marching across the lawn and into the building itself.

The only upside, as far as Tony can see, is that they don't appear to be shooting at anything.

"How many, JARVIS?" Tony asks.

There's a pause. "I would estimate one hundred, sir."

"_Fuck_. All right. Cap, we've got another one of those portal-thingies over here. Bunch of robots marching out of it this time. Looks like about a hundred, but they're still coming. They haven't started shooting yet, but-"

"-but they probably will soon," Steve replies. "All right. We're about three minutes out. Wait for us, if you can."

"Haul ass."

He flies over the fence and hovers near a tree, out of the robots' direct sight-line.

Robots.

In front of the White House.

Like something out of a bad Michael Bay movie: surreal and absurd, and _how the hell_ do these things always seem to happen to him?

Grimacing, grumbling under his breath, he runs another quick suit check as he waits. Power level is fine. Ammo is not so fine, but considering how much he'd had to use blowing those green things down, it's not surprising. They're all going to be hurting for ammo, which means they're going to need to figure out a way to deal with this without shooting through it.

Something dark crosses his field of vision, and he turns in time to see Loki, staff in hand, walking into the middle of the of all those robots like he's just ambling through a patch of sunshine, all calm and unconcerned. Like he's wearing his armor instead of the dark, ripped, blood-soaked clothes he's actually got on. Like he does not look like something that has been dragged facedown over broken glass and burning coals.

Loki pauses in the middle of all the robots, raises his staff – which might be the same one he had before, but Tony's too far away to tell – high, and begins to swing it in a slow arc over his head.

Blue light flashes out from the end of the staff, flickers over most of the robots. Every one it touches goes still, eyes darkening like a child's toy with dead batteries. Almost like they've been hit with some sort of controlled EMP burst, Tony muses.

Which is actually an interesting idea. Something worth looking into, at least, provided he could pull it off without knocking his own suit out in the process, because, Jesus, yeah, that would just _suck._

Did suck, actually, falling in a dead suit.

Which he is _so_ not thinking about right now.

After a few seconds, Loki lowers the staff and walks over to the crackling, hissing white fissure. Tony's scanners read it as some kind of energy, something purer and stronger than anything he has ever seen. More unstable, though, if the odd fluctuations he's getting around the edges mean what he thinks they mean.

He remains where he is, watching, figuring it was best to not only to keep an eye on Loki, but also to keep the fuck out of out of the way in case something goes wrong.

Once again, Loki raises hands to the white, and once again he shrinks by moving his hands together, as if it really is no more difficult than shrinking an image on a touchscreen.

But.

_What the..._?

Either something's gone haywire with the suit's sensors or Loki's body temperature has just become colder than a deep winter freeze in Antarctica.

Tony flies down a bit lower, and sure enough: Loki's skin has turned blue. Ice blue, actually, and when Loki turns Tony can see that his eyes are now glowing a deep, bloody red. The staff in his hand is glowing that same cold blue, fierce and focused as a laser, and it's about that point that Tony notices the tremor in Loki's hands, the visible signs of strain in the clench of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders.

Loki turns to face the mass of robots and flings his arms wide.

Tony's sensors pick up another tremendous energy surge an instant before the white appears again – under the robots this time. And instead of anything coming _through_, the robots drop _down_ like the ground has been yanked away underneath them. The ones further from the edge get dragged down into the hole like a hand has reached through to pull them in.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Tony starts to fly closer-

Only to draw up short when Loki turns his way and flings up a hand for him to stop.

It doesn't take him long to understand why: there _is_ a force drawing the robots into the fissure; it's as unstable as the white thing is, a churning mass of energy surges like solar flares. He's apt to get pulled in, too, if he gets too close, so he flies back to where he was before: off to Loki's right and up about fifteen feet.

From there, he is able to watch as every last robot is yanked into the hole. It takes just under a minute – "_Forty-six seconds, sir_," JARVIS notes, and Tony quashes an urge to roll his eyes – and not one of the them has a chance to fire off a shot. They drop like so many cockroaches down a drain.

_Well, _that_ was anticlimactic._

"Tony, we're on our way, but we're a little hung up. Any shots fired yet?" Cap's voice breaks in, brisk, bright, and grounding. "Don't wait for us, if that's the case."

"_Oh_." _Shit_. Avengers, right. He had actually _forgotten_ about them, and, okay maybe his head injury is worse than he thought. "Guys, yeah, no hurry. Looks like the situation is under control. Getting that way, at least. Huh."

"What?" Cap asks as Fury barks, "Stark, what the fuck is going on down there?"

Tony, still hovering by his tree, some thirty feet off the ground, says, "I – it looks like Loki is taking care of it. He's got the robots neutralized and he's making them go away."

Murmurs of surprise, more cursing from Clint, and a lot of questions come over the channel.

Fury doesn't ask questions. He demands more information and tells Tony get down there and capture Loki "right the fuck _now_."

Tony ignores all of them and returns his attention to Loki, who is still blue and whose temperature is still sub-Arctic. Even from his height, Tony can see the tremble in Loki's hands as he raises the staff once more and circles it over his head two or three times. He brings the staff down on the ground hard enough to cause a small earthquake.

Blue magical energy meets white, and the white begins to dissipate like fog burned off by the morning sun.

When it's gone, the blue fades, and Loki sags forward on the staff, clinging to it as if it's the only thing keeping him from falling.

There's still some residual magical energy hanging around, according to Tony's sensors, like the lingering warmth of an extinguished fire, but he judges it safe enough.

It's quiet, Tony observes, as he approaches. The kind of grim, deep quiet that falls after an explosion, tense and heavy.

Loki's color and heat signature are both normal by the time Tony stops beside him. Fatigue-filled green eyes flick his way. They are completely unreadable.

Hell, they're barely _visible_ in his bruised-up, cut-up, fucked-up face.

Tony says nothing. He's pretty sure 'thanks for saving us and everything' is probably the appropriate thing in the circumstance, but he just can bring himself to say it.

"I have no intention of being taken back into custody," Loki rasps just then, the harsh sound of his voice startling in the quiet. "If you value your life _at all_, do not try me."

"Okay," Tony says mildly. He remains where he is. "But you know I can't exactly just let you walk out of here, right? I mean, do you know how many brownie points that would cost me?"

Loki just blinks at him.

So, humor is a no. Tony frowns, thinking. There is just no scenario where this is going to end well for him, he realizes, because he's going to get his ass kicked no matter what he chooses. It's just a matter of whether he wants the verbal or the physical.

Except Loki is as white as a sheet, which makes the injuries on his face stand out pretty vividly: yellowed bruises around his eyes and jaw, mostly-healed cuts on his cheeks and mouth. More cuts and bruises, some partly healed and some fresh, show through the tears in his shirt. He's still swaying on his feet.

Tony notes the exhaustion in the sag of thin shoulders, and thinks, without sympathy, that Loki looks like someone who has been through the wringer.

He does not look like someone capable of kicking any ass.

So, even though he doesn't really _want_ to, Tony takes a step closer.

Faster than a striking snake, Loki turns and flicks the staff at him.

Once more Tony finds himself flying through the air, greatest of ease and all that. He lands with a jolt on his back, skids on the grass, and comes to rest underneath a tree.

When he manages to lift his head, Loki is long gone.

"Well, fuck you too, then," Tony mutters just before he passes out.

xXx

_The water's rushing over me  
__Thought the sun would come deliver me  
__But the truth has come to punish me instead  
_-Tool, "Flood"

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	6. I can't describe what's going on with me

A/N: This chapter still stands as one of the most over-the-top and fun I've ever written. Enjoy!

5. **"I can't describe what's going on with me. A different nature, moving rapidly. Being halfway here and halfway somewhere else."**

Clad now in his full battle armor, every inch a god and the son of kings, Loki stalks across a black-cool room shoulders square and posture precise despite the bone-deep weariness that chases his heels like the mongrel dog it is. The staff in his hand focuses him, grounds him, gives him a center for the anger coiled snakelike in his stomach.

He does not try to banish that anger; no, indeed, as he approaches what passes for Thanos's command room – the very thought of which makes his lip curl with derision – he gathers it to him, ready to draw on its potency. Both Thanos and his pet Other are standing together, their backs to him.

He taps the staff on the floor to draw their attention.

The Other turns first, draws an audible breath, and makes a sound that's somewhere between a furious snarl and an indignant whine. "_You_!"

"Yes," Loki says, as Thanos turns. "_Me_."

"You were warned never to return!"

"And yet here I am." He looks past the Other and addresses Thanos directly. "I require an audience with you. _Now_."

The Other, evidently not appreciating being ignored, stalks forward, eyes practically glowing with fury and violence and pure loathing.

Loki reacts on instinct, drawing the staff up and tapping into the pulsing magic he can feel contained within its crystal. Pure white light shoots out of the end, the last of the residual energy he'd held onto from the tear. Even a small amount is potent: it explodes into the Other's chest and sends him rocketing away.

He lands hard, face first, and does not get up.

Dismissing him from mind altogether, Loki steps around him and approaches Thanos. "Was it you who sent him?" he seethes. Rage like a fire in his veins, burning. "The sorcerer who just tried to set the army loose on Earth. _Is he yours_?"

Thanos actually blinks. "What of it?"

"Wh-? Do you have even the _faintest_ idea what he was doing? What he could have _done_ had I not stopped him?"

Sudden molten fury in the savage twist of lips, in the flaring of nostrils, in the eyes that burn. "_You dare?"_ Thanos roars in a voice that threatens to tear the air itself apart. _"You DARE interfere?_"

"_Yes._ Yes, I _dare_." Loki whips the staff up before him in a terse arc. He has little magic left for this gamble, but finds he does not need it: Thanos stills just from the staff's motion. And Loki presses his momentary advantage with all his might. "Any _true _master of magic knows that there are forces in this universe with which you _never_ interfere – forces so chaotic and powerful and unpredictable they _cannot_ be controlled. That is why a true master of magic would _never_ entertain the _suggestion_ of creating doorways by _ripping through_ dimensional walls.

"Dimensional walls are stable _only_ when they are whole. Even a handful of small tears – which is _precisely _what your fool of a sorcerer created _– _could destabilize them enough to cause the entire universe to collapse in on itself. It would be the end of _everything_." Loki forces himself to pause for a moment, to gather himself, to take a breath. In a calmer tone, he continues, "I rather doubt your lady would appreciate that, given it would mean there would be neither place nor purpose for her. Not that you would even be alive to suffer her disappointment."

"Lies," Thanos sneers. But his glowing gaze lingers on Loki's face a beat too long.

Loki raises an eyebrow. _Honestly_. "Do you truly believe I would risk the life you've only just granted me by returning here after you commanded me not to? Would I interfere with your 'plans,' and _tell you about it_ unless I was sure? No. No, I assure you I am quite sincere. I cannot impress on you enough the danger your sorcerer poses."

The truth, every word of it, unvarnished and not even a little exaggerated.

And suddenly Loki is so very tired.

"In any case," he goes on anyway, "was that really the best plan you had? Lob a few green spheres at Earth and sneak a pathetically small army around one building? Humans are not so easily cowed."

A glare sharp as knives, and, "Mind your _tongue_, godling, or I will rip it out and feed it to you."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Loki replies, grimacing despite himself. Even now, it's a painful memory. "The question, however, remains. Was that it, or did you have more behind it?"

"What you prevented was only the beginning."

"He's going to create more tears. You _must_ stop him."

"You command me _nothing_."

Loki bites back several colorful curses and forces himself to take a breath. To pause. To _think._ Logic and sense, not emotion, will see him through this. There will be time to nurse grievances and a wounded ego later. "No," he finally says, nearly choking on the word. "No, of course not. I wouldn't think of it. Still, if you wish to prevent the unmaking on the universe, this must end."

"You've interfered in my plans," Thanos says. "You have cost me part of an army. Now you wish to deny me means to bring my plans to full fruition." The words ring out like steel clashing against rock. "I should destroy you where you stand."

Loki lifts his chin, calm despite icy fear-fingers doing a slow-creep down his spine. "But you won't," he says, lifting the staff again. "As I recall, you want me to suffer. I have to be alive to do that, as you have to be alive to, ah, impress your lady and as there must be a universe in which you can make your overtures."

Ridiculous words, all desperation and half-lies and false charm, and if Loki wasn't so sure Thanos was capable of destroying him with a mere thought, he would simply raise his staff and have done with this idiotic charade.

_You are nothing._

_You have nothing._

But.

Gaslight eyes narrow. Massive arms fold across an equally massive chest. "He has not yet returned to me. Mephisto. The one responsible. Find him and bring him here. I will handle the matter myself."

"Oh, I most certainly will," Loki says, and it is all he can do to contain his relief. "However, I meant I could be of some _other_ value to you in your quest to conquer Earth. As I am a master of magic myself – a _true_ master – there are many things I can do for you. Finding you _safe_ passage for your army, for instance. I did it once. Surely I can do it again."

Thanos, huge and dark and slab-like, observes him for a long moment. Assessing.

Loki hears shuffling behind him – the Other stirring, he imagines – but remains still, expression bland and unconcerned. As he has not yet fully recovered physically or magically from his _last_ trip to this infernal place, this requires a great deal of effort. The rage he'd been using to fuel him has cooled, and now all that is keeping him upright is nerve.

"Bring me the sorcerer," Thanos finally says. "We will discuss your worth to me then."

"Very well." With a curt nod, lifts a hand and transports himself away.

_Nothing, indeed._

xXx

Everybody is a little beat up and worn out by the time they make it back to SH.I.E.L.D. headquarters, but for a change nobody is seriously hurt – not even Tony, whose injuries amount only to a mild concussion and some wicked bone-deep bruises.

He's alive, either way, which still makes everything else seem pretty trivial.

The team lets him cool his heels in the infirmary while they head up to talk to Fury about cleanup, and that's fine as far as Tony goes. He uses the time to strip the rest of his armor off – fighting a wave of nausea to do so – and get it all stacked in the corner, fingers clumsy and thick and fumbling to find all the manual release points.

It gives his hands something to do while he waits, and leaves him free to think.

The details are a touch hazy in places (like what exactly happened during his fall), but even in his addled state he knows once again he has dodged a pretty big fucking bullet.

Thanks to Loki.

Which, by the way, what the actual fuck?

He can hand-wave that maybe Loki had a reason for shutting down those white energy things and maybe even for stopping the robots, but why Loki would actually save him is a complete mystery. Especially considering their last encounter, where Loki actually caused him to fall...

It makes no sense.

He's lying down on the bed, still trying to wrap his aching head around all that when the doors slide open, maybe an hour or so later. Steve walks in. He has changed out of his uniform, and is back in his usual khakis and tee shirt. It makes him look smaller, somehow.

"How are you?" Steve asks as he pulls the lone empty chair over to the bedside.

"Been better," Tony admits. "Been worse. How's it looking out there?"

"Been better," Steve replies. "Worse, too. They've sent the National Guard out to start clean up. A lot of property damage, road damage, cars."

"The usual, in other words," Tony says. "How many dead?"

Steve's mouth thins. "At least fifty so far, but that's just what they've found on the street. They haven't even started combing the buildings yet, so it's bound to be a lot more than that."

"Great," Tony mutters.

"I know," Steve says grimly. "But it's over."

"Yeah, for now." Tony shakes his head. Regrets it when the pain-bolt hits him. Around a wince of his own, he says, "Until whoever's responsible decides to try again. Because you can just bet they will."

"That – yeah, I know. I know they will." Steve's baby blues fix on him again, and they're full of nothing but concern. "You feeling up to telling me what you saw?"

"What, right now?"

"Yeah." He gestures over to the camera up in the corner of the infirmary. "They're recording this, so we'll be able to listen to it later. I thought this would be easier than dragging you out to the conference room for a debriefing. Less noisy, less questions. Director Fury said it was okay with him, as long as we get your side of things. Also, if you managed to get any readings with your suit, Bruce was wondering if you could send them to him. When you're feeling up to it."

Tony is surprised to find himself feeling touched by that, by the earnest regard and the genuine compassion. Feels grateful for it, too, instead of irritated by it. Probably because of the head injury, but to-may-to, to-mah-to. Steve's so clean he practically squeaks, all sparkly and perfect, but he really does mean well, and Tony for once can't find it in himself to give him any kind of grief about it.

Though he'll probably never admit it, concern and solidarity on a shitheap of a day like today mean a hell of a lot.

So he shrugs and, with a little difficulty, forces himself to start talking.

What emerges is an edited, but mostly truthful version of The Story, According To Tony Stark.

If he leaves out a few things – getting tossed off a building and Loki's subsequent and wholly confusing 11th hour rescue, for example, because that's just not even worth mentioning – well, that's his prerogative. What he leaves out isn't germane to the main point, which is, namely, that they might possibly have two crazy magic-wielding bad guys to contend with here.

Steve, doesn't interrupt with a lot of questions, just listens and nods, and Tony's pretty sure he loves him for that, because three-quarters of the way through his narrative, his headache decides to throw off whatever weak excuse for painkillers he's been given and it kicks up the kind of fuss that makes even _blinking_ require concentration.

He gets all out, though, eventually, everything he means to tell, voice trailing off into a raspy croak in the end.

Steve watches him for a long time afterward, face quiet and unreadable. "I'm glad you're okay," he finally says. "When we lost contact with you, I thought..."

"_Don't_." Tony reaches over and drops a clumsy hand on Cap's forearm. Finds it tight. "I'm fine."

"I never should have told you to go alone," Steve tells his hands. "That was really stupid."

"It was a judgment call," Tony says. "I was the one stupid enough to chase after that shadow thing without any backup. Which – yeah, not doing that again _ever_."

"Still..."

"It turned out all right."

Steve's head snaps up, eyebrows raised. "_How_ did this turn out all right? We have part of a city destroyed, hundreds of people dead, and nobody in custody for it. We couldn't even _stop_ this ourselves. Our worst enemy had to do it for us."

Tony tightens his grip on Steve's forearm. "I know," he says, squeezing his eyes closed against the throbbing in his forehead. "I know. And I am literally the last guy on the planet you want to give you a pep talk right now, but... We're fine. I got all kinds of data for us to work with. We'll figure something out."

There's a pause, followed by a weak chuckle. "'We'll figure something out'?"

"Told you. Last guy you want."

"No. No, you're right. The main thing is, we're all okay. Like you said, between all of us, maybe we can figure something out based on what you recorded." He pats the back Tony's hand, awkwardly, and then lifts it away. There's a shuffling sound, and Tony thinks it means Steve's standing up, but Tony doesn't bother to open his eyes to find out. "I'm going to go get the doc, okay?" Steve says. "You are really pale."

"Headache," Tony admits.

"I'm sure. That's one heck of a bruise. Just hold tight."

Tony doesn't acknowledge that, just sort of drifts for a while, trying to think about anything but the way his stomach is churning again and the ringing in his ears and the way his brain is trying to pound his eyeballs out of their sockets.

They bring him more painkillers – "Not the real stuff, Tony; we can't do that yet, because of the concussion, sorry" – and he drifts off into an uneasy sleep while he waits for them to kick in.

xXx

They wake him up before he can really start dreaming, and he's grateful.

xXx

By Saturday afternoon, he's feeling better.

The headache recedes, taking the nausea and dizziness with it, and leaving only the bruises' soreness and all-over body aches behind. _Those_ he's used to, so it's not such a big deal to ignore them.

He has JARVIS send over all the data and video he captured from the attacks down to the labs, and he and Bruce spend most of Saturday evening sifting through it all – there's a lot, and Tony's actually glad about that, because it gives that a much clearer picture of what they're up against.

The first thing they confirm is that it's not Loki who created the portals.

The energy signatures Tony picked up from his mystery attacker are the same as those used to open the portals. Loki's has a different – frequency? harmonic? – signature altogether.

Tony's not sure if it's relevant or not, but he and Bruce manage to match Loki's signature to the one captured each time the animals showed up. Could be useful, they decide, so they file it away for future reference.

Problem is, for every question they answer, there are three that they can't answer.

The biggest one of all is whether or not they'd even have a way to replicate whatever Loki did to shut down the portals. Because it _looks_ like some kind of simple energy manipulation, but Bruce points out how unstable and chaotic the portals' energy is and wonders what might happen if they were to destabilize it further.

"That much energy," he says, shaking his head over the reading, "and we'd probably be looking at a nuclear-type explosion. And that's on one of the small ones."

"...yeah," Tony mutters.

He heads off to his bunk that night night with thoughts of energy weapons and portals in his head, but what he really thinks about is how tired he is already of this stupid bunk. It's a cramped little room, barely enough space to turn around in, and the bed is hard as a rock – which _so _does not help his aches and pains.

A germ of an idea comes to him as he drifts off.

xXx

Everybody gathers the next morning over breakfast to go over what Bruce and Tony found. Tony, tired and scratchy from yet another less-than-satisfying night's sleep, lets Bruce handle the lion's share of the explanation. There's not really that much to tell, anyway, because they don't have a lot in the way of real answers, just a few inconsequential facts and a whole heap of useless speculation.

Nobody really has much to say, not even Fury, so once Bruce is done, an awkward kind of quiet falls over the table.

Tony decides it's a good enough place to speak up. He glances around and just sort of blurts out, "So I have a mansion."

Everybody turns to look at him. Clint leans back in his chair, eyebrow cocked. "Good for you?"

Tony shakes his head. "I own a mansion that I'm not using. My family's house. In New York. I – look, we need somewhere we can all meet up when things like this happen. No offense," he adds, glancing at Fury, "but the bunks here _suck_. The mansion has more than enough rooms for everybody, with real beds. It'd be a better long-term solution."

"How secure is it?" Natasha asks.

Tony shrugs. "I designed the system myself. JARVIS runs it. It's secure. But we can beef it up, if you want." He glances across at Clint. "I think there's enough rooms that we could set up a target room for you, if you want. And there's already a gym, a lab, you name it."

"And it's where your company's operating right now, too," Steve points out.

Tony nods. "Exactly."

He does not wince at the reminder.

There's a long, considering silence at this. Tony spends the time fidgeting with a pen and taking bets with himself over who's going to be the first to break the silence.

Loses when Bruce glances over and says, quietly, "Is there some kind of room you might be able to stick the other guy in if he gets loose?"

"Like a panic room?" Tony asks, frowning. "Um. Yes. Yeah, I think we can do that."

"We'd need to be able to contact you at all times," Fury says.

"You already can," Tony points out. "But if it'd make you feel better, I can have a private line set up just for you, no big deal."

Steve looks around the table and says, "Sounds like a good idea to me. It would be nice to have a real base of our own. Does anybody have any objections?"

Nobody does.

And that's how the Avengers acquire themselves a base of their own.

xXx

Monday comes around with a kind of dragging inevitability.

And with it comes the prospect of all those things Tony has spent his entire weekend deliberately not thinking about.

He took no phone calls and looked at no emails during the rest of his weekend. Things were just so much better that way. So much easier to pretend none of it ever happened, that it was just a bad dream he could pretend he never had.

He'd hoped, really, as Sunday afternoon stretched into evening and as he'd been elbow-deep in getting the mansion prepped for everybody to move in Monday morning, that something would come up and he could just completely avoid going back to the day job and all the crap he knows he's going to have to shovel.

But no alarms go off, and by about four o'clock in the morning, he knows he's going to have to take off his Iron Man suit and trade it for his CEO suit.

He flies in his suit back to New York, arriving at the penthouse sometime before six.

JARVIS welcomes him home with the news that he one missed phone call already from Cecil Wilkes, which Tony returns as he's stripping out of his under suit and heading to grab a quick shower. Cecil is awake and agrees to meet Tony at his office in half an hour.

Tony showers and dresses quickly in a sharp three-piece suit that somehow seems to weigh more than his Iron Man suit ever has. As he ties his shoes, he does his his level best to ignore the way his insides are all knotted and the way his nerves feel like the frayed ends of an plugged-in extension cord.

He heads down to his office, where he paces behind his desk like a caged animal until Cecil shows himself in.

Cecil's a big guy, tall and bald and built a little like Thor. A small-time thug turned private detective, he's been the head of Stark Industries' security department for going on eight years. His face is hard, his eyes cold and calculating, and one corner of his mouth is always rucked up into what looks like a sneer but what is actually nerve damage from an injury suffered in a knife fight.

The big man does not offer to shake Tony's hand. Instead, he sits down and says, "No offense, boss, but you look like shit. Rough weekend?"

"Very," Tony says evenly. "So what's up?"

"Well," Cecil says, "you want the bad news or the _bad_ news?"

Which is another one of those moments where Tony becomes sure this day is just going to suck.

_A lot_.

He sighs, forces himself to sit, folds his hands on his desktop, and says, "Well, I guess if I'm going to get screwed, I might as well take it all at once."

"That say it's easier that way," Cecil says with a shrug. For a big guy, he has a light voice. "So the girl. Hate to say this, but there wasn't anything there. Zip. Zilch. Nada. She's just exactly what she says she is – model from Bumfuck, Iowa. Nobody's got any hooks in her as far as I could find, and believe me, I dug for 'em. Family's fine – Dad's a dentist, Mom's an ex-teacher. Mom travels with the girl to photo shoots and runway shows. No red flags came up when I checked the finances. Everything's either paid for or getting that way.

"Her lawyer's her older brother, by the way, and _he's _a junior partner at a tiny little firm I've never heard of. They're not affiliated with anybody. The two senior partners own the company outright. It's doing fine, too.

"The desk clerk at the hotel ID'd you. She remembered you coming in. Described what you were wearing that night to a tee. 'Course, that doesn't mean much, because that security footage has been all over the fucking place. Wouldn't stand up in court, but she still claims it was you who came in with the girl. Said she could see the light shining under your shirt, so take that for whatever it's worth to you.

"So in other words," he goes on, "what you've got here is exactly what it looks like: a bright little thing taking advantage of an opportunity you handed her. Which to my way of thinking means you're pretty much going to have to suck it up and do this the good, old fashioned American way: throw enough money at it to make it go away."

Tony's jaw is clenched so tight that he doubts he could speak, even if he had anything to say. He can't even find the words to put together a coherent denial, not in the face of Cecil's apparent certainty of his guilt, and _Jesus Christ_ he's getting tired of trying.

"The other thing," Cecil says after a few moments' silence. "Osborn's got us all out there chasing our tails, but I _think_ – I'm not sure yet – but I think we have a problem."

_That_ makes Tony's jaw unclench. "A problem. With Osborn?"

"With somebody on your board." He holds up a big paw. "I don't have a name. Not even sure I'm right, so it's not something to get in a twist over yet. Only reason I'm bringing it up is so if something does shake out, you're not caught with your pants around your ankles. Again."

"_Hey_," Tony snaps. "_Don't_."

The controlled ferocity in Tony's voice causes Cecil to blink. "Er. Sorry," he mutters. "Anyway, like I was saying, I'm playing a hunch. Osborn has us kind of tripping over each other, so I've sort of gone around him and I have some feelers out."

"On purpose?"

"Huh?"

"Osborn. Is he spinning you on purpose, do you think?"

Cecil's bushy eyebrows come together in a frown. "No, I think it's more there's so many of us working on the same thing at the same time when there's not enough space for us all. His people have been pretty good about helping where and when they can, so..." He tosses off a shrug. "We'll see how it goes."

Tony nods and unclenches his hands. Wishes like he could unclench that little anxiety-knot that's lodged itself just under his arc reactor, but he's not that lucky. "All right," he says. "Anything else?"

"No, sir, that's it."

"Okay. Thanks." He dismisses Cecil with a wave.

When Cecil is gone, Tony stands and resumes his pacing.

He doesn't stop until it's time for the Board meeting.

xXx

The second he pushes through those doors, he knows he's screwed.

In the first place, he's about five minutes late.

In the second place, the cold looks he receives when he takes his place at the head of the table are every bit as hostile as any glare Loki had ever given him.

In the third place, the silence that falls is _deafening_.

He stares at each one of them, wondering which one is the Judas of the group.

"So!" he says brightly, bitterly. "Good of you let me know we had a meeting this morning. I didn't get a copy of the agenda, though, so you might want to bring me up to speed."

"I'm sorry, sir," his COO, Thomas Andrews, says. He's smaller than Tony, reedy and sharp-eyed. "This was supposed to be a closed meeting."

"Meaning _I_ am the agenda."

"Well, yes, actually," Andrews says. "And I think you know why. You've left a hell of a mess here. We're trying to figure out how the hell to clean it up."

Tony raises a hand. "Look," he says, "putting aside the fact that I'm innocent here, what exactly is the problem? Even pretending for a second I'm guilty, I didn't do anything illegal. A little sketchy, sure, but nothing illegal, and how is this worse than hitting on that Russian ambassador's girlfriend?"

"Well, that's just it, sir." Andrews says. He laces his hands together over his notepad, while the rest of the Board shifts and shuffles around him. "This is your old pattern all over again. All this wild, out of control stuff you're doing makes the company look bad."

Tony bristles at that. "Profits are up across the board," he says. He hates how defensive he sounds, but he can't help himself. Once again, it's like being dressed down by his father for yet another in a long string of disappointments. "And I'm not wild or out of control. I've had two incidents in the last, what, year or so? Things like this used to happen every other week."

"This would be number three, actually, but that's beside the point. It shouldn't happen at all."

"Agreed," Tony says. "I'm working on that."

"We need you to try harder, Tony." This from the room's only woman, Elizabeth McKinnon, an elegant older lady seated to Andrews' immediate left. She has the sweet face of a grandmother and the shrewd eyes of a master poker player. "You're the face of the company, which means people think of you when they think of the company. Which means you need to behave in a way that best-reflects the-"

"The interests of the company," Tony cuts her off. He has lost count of how many times he's heard this lecture over the years. "I know. What part of 'I'm trying' and 'I didn't do this' are you not understanding?"

"It's about image," she says placidly. "These little slips can't happen. Not anymore. If they do, then we'll have no choice but to vote you out."

"_If_...? Wait." Tony blinks because that actually sounded halfway promising. "So you're _not_ voting me out."

"That depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not you're willing to accept our recommendation," she says, and Tony all of a sudden feels like he's got the metal bar of a mousetrap hovering over his neck.

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?" When no answer comes, he sighs and swipes a hand over his face. Notices as he does that in his haste to get down to his office this morning, he forgot to shave. Stubble makes a snake's hiss under his fingertips. "Okay, fine. What recommendation?"

It's Andrews, the bespectacled little prick, who says, "We want you to take a personal leave of absence. Effective immediately. For no less than six months. I'll run things in your absence, just like I pretty much am now. This whole thing with the girl should be long dead and buried by that point, and when the time comes you can slot right back in. That simple."

"Six months." The words drop like chunks of ice from Tony's mouth. "You want me to take a leave of absence from _my company_ for six months, when I just got things up and running the way I want them to."

Andrews neither flinches nor looks away. "Yes, we do. Because it's either that, or we vote you out. I'm sorry, but things are just too combustible around you right now. The press is having a field day with this, it's making everybody look bad, and

"How exactly am I supposed to explain that?" Tony's hands are fisted again, so tight that his split knuckle breaks open and begins to weep a bit. He can feel blood trickling over his hand. "How exactly is that supposed to ensure things keep running the way they have been?"

_How is that supposed to make me _not_ look completely guilty?_

"Well, sir, it's not like you don't have half a dozen other irons in the fire, if you'll pardon the pun." Andrews shrugs, a quick jerk of thin shoulders, a gesture of ultimate unconcern. "Say you need time for your Iron Man project. Say you want to take time to work on some new inventions. Sayyou just need time away to reflect and clear your head. Just make an elegant exit. You're good at that."

"And when you come back," McKinnon puts in, "as long as you're ready to conduct yourself in a way that doesn't reflect negatively on the company, we'll be happy to have you. Believe it or not, Tony, we're behind your vision for this company. It's inspired and brilliant, and it's the direction we want to go. We're going to stick with it whether you're here or not because we believe in it.

Bile rises into Tony's throat. "You just don't believe in me."

And, wow, how childish did _that_ sound?

But nobody contradicts him.

There's a little more discussion, but in the end, Tony realizes they have him over a barrel.

The thing is, in the past few months he's gotten to kind of like running the show again. Bullshit meetings and glad-handing business politics aside, he likes the fact that he's finally steering the ship the right way, likes the fact that they've started to build momentum again after the PR nightmares that closing down the weapons division and the Obediah thing left.

Likes that he did this basically on his own.

It's something he's not willing to give up.

Which means either he caves in to what the board wants and takes time away, or fights it and risks having to start over again.

He glares at every one of the board members and says, "Nothing changes while I'm gone."

They assure him nothing will.

It's still a bitter fucking pill, though.

Bitter.

xXx

Still stinging from his defeat, he marches back to his office and calls his lawyer.

Matt is sympathetic, but confirms what Tony already knows: there's no way around it.

Says, in tones of apology, "I told you, Tony, that their one and only condition for taking you back as CEO of the company was that they'd have the authority to pull you out if they thought you weren't meeting their expectations. It's pretty standard."

"I know that."

Tony sighs, leans forward in his chair, and covers his face with his hands. "Fuck," he mutters. "Okay. All right. Okay. Uh, so this thing with the girl. You do realize this is extortion, right?"

"Technically, no, it's not," Matt says. "This girl – whoever's acting on her behalf – was smart enough not to imply any threat when they offered to sell you whatever tapes they have. They never said 'give me two million or else these go public.' What they said was 'I have something you might potentially want, and I am willing to sell it to you for two million dollars.'"

"With the understanding that if I don't buy it, she'll sell it to the highest bidder."

"That was never explicitly stated." There's a pause and a sound like shuffling papers. "Like I said, this whole thing has been handled pretty carefully. Whoever put this together put a lot of thought into it. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was set up."

"Almost hell," Tony snorts. "I was set up."

"You sure you didn't just get careless and unlucky all in one go? Because from what I've heard, the girl's just some little social climber looking to cash in on a lucky break. I'm sorry to say this, but I think she has you by the short and curlies. I mean, unless you can prove it's not you in the tapes, you're better off just paying her, making her sign non-disclosure agreements, and letting this thing die."

"The hell I will," Tony snaps, slamming the phone down.

He's already lost once today.

He will be damned if he loses again.

xXx

What the girl brings to the conference room table that afternoon is four two-minute, grainy video clips of herself and a guy Tony is positive isn't him.

There's only six of them in the room: Tony, his lawyer, the girl and her parents and her lawyer.

They don't see the guy's face, really, except when it makes a couple of too-quick, blurry passes in front of the camera on the third clip: it's a smear of dark goatee, dark sunglasses (_who the fuck wears sunglasses during sex_? Tony wonders), dark eyebrows, dark hair and no discernible features. It _could_ have been him, sure, but it could have been anybody.

The shot that damns him comes on the last clip.

It's just a shot of the guy's chest as he's lying down on the bed. He's got a black tee shirt on, but there's an arc-reactor-sized circle visible under the stretched material. There's even _light_ coming from the damn thing, a glow that is probably too bright and probably the wrong color, but that _looks_ like it could be legitimate.

It doesn't matter.

Just like it doesn't matter that his face never appeared on the videos.

The looks that go around the table – disappointment, accusation, anger – say it all. Fake or not, completely suspicious or not, this is enough to tip the scales in _her_ favor, and no argument he can make is going to make a damn bit of difference.

Shitty quality video, even suspect, trumps no evidence at all - every time.

And something in him just completely slams shut with that gem of a revelation, a heavy iron door closing between his reason and his emotions.

He will cave. Again.

As much as he hates that, as much as he hates to concede defeat, he can't prove he's not guilty.

It's like somebody has thrown him off a building all over again, that helpless and frustrating feeling of being in complete freefall without hope of rescue. Only worse, because, while this isn't his fault or his doing, it's his own less-than-sterling reputation that made this possible.

Just like that, he's done.

He rises, looks the girl in the eye, and says, flatly, "If you're smart, you'll use my money to do something with your life – like go to college and become a useful member of society. Start a charity. Something good. You probably won't, but whatever. Hope you're proud of yourself." She flinches, but he ignores her and shoots a quick, cutting glance at his own lawyer. "I get _all copies _of the video. Non-disclosure for everybody in this room. Leave me room to sue every one of them for every penny they have if this ever leaks, and also if and when the truth comes out."

Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and marches out.

Dallas is waiting for him in the hall, paperwork in hand, but Tony blows past him.

xXx

Pepper calls him fifteen minutes later.

Steve calls about ten minutes after that.

He doesn't take either call.

Instead, he goes down to his gym and hits the punching bag until his arms are so heavy he can barely lift them, until there's nothing at all in his mind but the rhythm of his fists hitting leather, until sweat's pouring down his face and his rage has burned itself out.

Nobody bothers him, and he's glad.

Because, seriously, fuck this fucking day.

xXx

When he heads back into his kitchen, he finds Dallas has left him two stacks of documents to sign.

"Mr. Andrews needs you to these to authorize him becoming acting CEO," the first sticky note reads.

"These are about the payment," the other informs him.

He ignores them both.

Heads for the shower instead to get cleaned up.

Time to go out, he decides, because suddenly _away _seems like the place to be.

xXx

In the big city, it's possible even for a guy like Tony Stark to be anonymous.

Relatively, anyway.

There are places – exclusive, off-the-beaten-path little clubs – where even if he's recognized, nobody thinks anything of it, and nobody _says_ anything about it, which is just _exactly_ what he needs right now. He's feeling caged and cornered and in need of something a little more aggressive than he'll be able to find with a woman.

So, two hours later, and he's at one of said clubs and he's toeing the razor-thin line between being sober enough to remain sharp and drunk enough to not give much of a fuck what he does.

It's a line he knows well.

Fuck, it might as well be _named_ for him: the Tony Stark Line, perfect for those moments when you're on the prowl for something that's probably going to be bad for you but that you want just the same. It's perfect for those times when you're not exactly sure _what_ you're looking for, you're only sure you'll know it when you see it.

And he see it in a slab of a brown-haired guy, a big man with calloused hands and too-bright eyes and a slanted smile that carries hints of danger and everything else Tony's thinking he wants.

The guy – Shane? Carl? Rick? Tony doesn't know; doesn't _care_ – makes all the right moves, sidling up behind Tony and pressing against him and dropping a too-heavy hand on Tony's jacket-clad shoulder.

He's in all black again, like he was _that_ night.

The girl's night, but _fuck that._

Tonight, at least, won't be a bad forgery of sex for him.

He's got a raging fucking hard-on by the time he and slab-o-guy make it to the club's alley exit, the likes of which he has not had in _ages_, and that's probably, he thinks distantly, because he hasn't actually had sex in a couple of weeks. (He's sure JARVIS would know.)

Brown-Hair guy is grabby, hard hands sliding all over Tony's back and hips as they kiss in the alley like a couple of sex-starved teenagers. And Tony wonders if they're even going to make it to his _car,_ let alone back to his-

"_Stark_." A voice in the darkness, cool and familiar.

Tony tears away from Brown-Haired Guy, muttering, "_Huh_?"

"I would speak with you," the voice, accented and smooth as dark silk, says. A figure steps out of the shadows, tall and lean and, like Tony, dressed all in black.

As he approaches, he steps into a weak pool of light, which chases the shadows away from his face.

Tony sucks in a deep breath as recognition hits him hard between the eyes. "_Loki_? What-?"

_Shit, shit, _shit_._

Because, yeah, he really needs _this_ tonight – when his suit is across town, and when he might have left his cell phone with it.

Could be worse, he supposes, as he watches Loki approach. At least they're not on a fucking _roof_.

But then, then things just take a turn for the completely surreal.

Like Tony's woken up in an Escher painting.

Because somehow Loki is _right there, _right in the space between Tony and Brown-Haired Guy, and suddenly strong hands are pushing him back into a corner. Not shoving, though, and the pain Tony finds himself bracing for never comes. Instead...

Instead, those same hands move up to settle on Tony's shoulders, the grip firm but not crushing. The kind meant to keep him in place, but not hurt him.

Things take a turn for the ultra-weird, because Loki kisses him.

_Oh holy shit, what the fuck, oh my god..._

It's a crushing kiss, possessive and hard enough to bruise, and even though Tony tries to pull away, to keep his mouth closed, _Jesus Christ_, he _can't_. The wall's at his back and Loki's got him locked down in the front, and...

..._holy shit_.

A biting kiss, and Tony's brain short circuits for a second as something dark and incredibly hot shoots through him, an adrenaline-soaked thrill, but he _is not_ kissing back, _is not_.

Except he _is_.

It's a bruising crush of lips and teeth and tongues, vicious and brutal, and just _fucking perfect_ for where his head's gone tonight. And, oh yeah, things start stirring down below.

_Fuck._

But he can't deny it: he's even just a little disappointed when Loki pulls away, glances backward, and rasps, "I suggest you leave now. This one is spoken for."

"Man, fuck you!" a voice snaps. "Get a fucking room."

Brown-Haired Guy, Tony realizes as his higher brain function begins to return to him. He'd completely forgotten about Brunette Guy. He hears a car door slam, an engine rev up too fast, and tires squeal away.

He doesn't see it, though; he's kind of busy staring at Loki.

Loki lowers his hands and drifts back a few steps. He's all pale skin and unreadable eyes and kiss-swollen lips, expressionless and unfathomable.

Tony, feeling wild and wide-eyed, finally snaps, "What the _fuck_ was that?"

"I wish to speak with you."

"You just _cockblocked_ me."

Okay, maybe higher brain function hasn't returned.

Loki blinks. "I _what_?"

Tony gestures at the spot where – Paul? Chris? Ryan? – that guy had been. "I was going to go have sex. You just got in the way of that. You cockblocked me."

Something like amused disbelief in the widening of green eyes, and, "You're drunk."

"I am not _drunk_. I just really wanted to get laid. And – whoa. Okay. Okay, _wait_." It finally hits him – hard enough to sink in – that it's fucking _Loki_ standing right in front of him.

That it was Loki who just kissed him _like that._

Because apparently the universe just hates him that much.

He tries to back away, really does, but with a wall at his back, a dumpster to his right, and another wall to his left, there's just no more _away._ He is literally cornered.

Which is a thing that happens to complete fucking idiots.

He fumbles for a cell phone he doesn't have, and winds up shooting what might or might not be a panicked look up at Loki.

And Loki's just kind of standing there right there in front of him, a smug smirk and an amused, condescending look in place. "Relax, Stark," he says. "I am not here to harm you."

The asshole.

Tony glares at him: murderous, mutinous, mulish. Says the first thing that comes to mind, which is not the logical _what are you doing here_ or _let me go or so help me I'll hold you down while your brother beats your head in with that fucking hammer _but rather: "You _kissed_ me."

There's a little hitch at that, a tiny lift of eyebrows in a kind of shrug. "I wished to speak to you, privately, and I could not do so with your, ah, companion here. That seemed the simplest way to rid you of him."

"Sp-? You want to talk? Okay. Uh. You want to talk. Okay. Okay, I think we can do that. What about, exactly?"

Loki's gaze lingers on him for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, an odd little frown creasing his brow, and it for some reason throws Tony way back to that first meeting in the quinjet. The way Loki had frowned at the lightning.

But this isn't the way he's frowning. This is almost puzzled.

It only last a few seconds, though, and then Loki's talking.

Thing is, yeah, Tony doesn't really hear a word Loki says. Because once the panic subsides, _that other thing _creeps back in and he can't help staring at the curve of Loki's throat, the sharp angle of the Adam's apple, and _that mouth_. Because, mortal enemy or no, it has not escaped Tony's attention that Loki is not unattractive. He's all lean lines and clean angles, and intense eyes full of mischief and secret amusements, dangerous and exciting.

There are no visible bruises or cuts on him now, an absent part of Tony observes.

But it's his mouth, pursed and swollen and red-red under the streetlight, Tony can't help staring at.

His cock stirs again, and he thinks, not without a little panic,_ Really? _Really_? Jesus Christ._

Because there's wrong, and there's the kind of wrong that's just too wrong for words.

Which this is, and he makes himself look Loki in the eyes because this is _Loki_, Avengers' enemy Numero Uno, not some guy Tony's picked up in a club.

Loki, all raised eyebrows and impatient downward slant to his mouth, mutters something in a language Tony doesn't understand, but it's accompanied by an eye roll that he absolutely _does:_ it's the 'you are such a _child_' eye roll Pepper used to give him when she thought he was doing something grown ups don't do, Tony.

"Well, this won't do," Loki finally says briskly.

Tony blinks. "_What_?"

"I can _smell_ your arousal from here." The amused mockery in Loki's tone makes Tony want to punch him. "You've not heard a word I said. You're too wound up."

"I...no?"

"No?" His gaze cuts down, pointedly. "I beg to differ."

"Well, _don't_. Just – I had a bad day. Okay? I was just trying to get off and here you had to fucking cockblock me, so excuse me if I'm having a little trouble focusing."

And, yes, somehow those words actually _do_ come out of his mouth.

Because apparently he's been turned into a whiny fifteen-year-old.

Of course Loki would choose that distracted moment to move in again. Loki seems to thrive on taking advantage of other people's distraction.

Tony's shoved back against the wall again, and he _yelps_ when he feels a hand brush the front of his pants. _No_, he thinks, _no, that is _not_ okay. Not even a little._

"Hey, hey, what-?" he stammers, trying to shove the hand away. It doesn't move. "_No_. Bad touch. That's – no. _Don't_."

"Shut up, Stark." Brusque fingers move toward the button of his slacks. "I actually _do_ require your attention. Your focus. Since you seem incapable of giving me either in your current state, I'll have to get you to a state where you _can_."

With that, and with no warning or ceremony whatsoever, Loki unbuttons Tony's slacks, slides them and Tony's boxers down just enough so they're out of the way, and – _whoa __holy shit _– then those stronger-than-they look fingers thread themselves around Tony's cock and start kneading.

"Holy _fuck_!" Tony gasps. "What the fuck are you _do...oh."_ The fingers _twist_, a flick of the wrist, and in that firm grip, it's painful in the best possible way. "God..."

"Do you never tire of hearing yourself speak, Stark?" Loki rumbles into Tony's ear, dark and amused.

"N-Not...Jesus, d-don't... Not really."

"Don't what?"

Tony tries to put an end to it right then, he really does: he grabs hold of Loki's arm, meaning to pull it away, meaning to _stop it_,but...

But then Loki's doing that biting-kiss thing again, while he continues that hard-slow rhythm with his hand, and Tony can feel himself getting close. And _fuck_ it has been a rotten day, so he decides to shut his brain off and rut like a dog in heat, to grind into Loki's hand in the most undignified way possible, and to not care about it one bit.

Because it's Loki, who is probably going to kill him anyway, so _why the fuck not?_

When he goes over, it's with a strangled cry against Loki's mouth and his hands balled in Loki's coat and his legs shaking. It's nothing less than a complete relief, like a pressure-valve thrown wide open after the pipe's been redlining. His knees buckle, but he manages to catch himself against the side of the dumpster, to brace himself until the tremors subside and his pulse begins to slow.

Night air cools the sweat on the back of his neck. The sensation grounds him, snaps him out of his haze, and – oh, hey, would you look at that? Self-loathing doesn't even wait for daylight.

He's no stranger to letting his impulses drive him to make stupid decisions, but Jesus, he just completely outdid himself here. Because there's stupid, and there's…

…well, _this_.

_Fucking idiot_.

He sags back against the wall, glaring for all he's worth. Loki takes a few steps back.

"So," Loki says, casually as he pulls out a dark handkerchief and wipes his hand, "is this how you fill up the empty hole you have in _you_?"

"Oh, fuck you," Tony growls. He tucks himself back in and zips up.

"Ooh. Did I touch a nerve?"

Tony grits his teeth. He doesn't know why, but it felt like Loki had touched _something_, all right, like a pressing on a fresh bruise. "Are you going to get to the point, or just stand there boring me to death?"

"Hmm. Are you always this cordial after you've had sex? It explains a fair bit, actually."

"_Hey!_"

Loki huffs an unconcerned-sounding laugh. In the half-light, his eyes are dark. "Very well," he says. "I was not responsible for creating the tears you found. This, I assume, you've already determined for yourselves."

"Yeah," Tony says, crossing his arms. "Figured that out." He frowns, though. "Tears?"

"Tears, yes. In the walls between dimensions." One dark eyebrow arches. "I gather from that truly idiotic look on your face that you have no idea what I mean."

Tony closes his mouth. "No," he says gruffly. "We – no. Uh. It's not exactly something any of us have ever seen before. Thought they were portals of some kind."

"They are, in a manner of speaking, though they are unnatural, unstable, and apt to cause the universe to collapse in on itself. All you really need to know, Stark, is that there are some magical forces out there even _I_ am not foolish enough to touch. This is one of them."

"But you did," Tony blurts before he can help himself. "Didn't you? When you sent those robo-thingies back through?"

"I fed its energy back into it, actually. It-" An impatient shake of the head, and, "It does not matter. My _point_ is that I am not responsible for creating them. I am, in fact, doing my utmost to track down and stop the creature responsible for them. What I wish to know is whether or not you and your Avengers-" there's that twist again, half a sneer and half a growl "-have devised some means with your technology to alert you when these tears form."

"W-uh. Yeah," Tony says. "Yes, we have. There's always a huge energy surge where they are, which we can detect, so we know pretty much the second they happen."

There's another odd flicker of _something_ on Loki's face, something different from the uncertainty Tony had seen before. He has no idea what it is, though, and edges closer to the corner. If Loki notices, he gives no sign. "Interesting," he muses instead. "Perhaps your science and my magic aren't as different as I'd imagined. I can sense them. The energy surges of which you speak."

"That's how you knew where they were."

"Yes. I wasn't sure _what_ I had sensed until I arrived and saw them." Loki shrugs, an elegant gesture like the ripple of a waterfall. "Returning to the point, I am hunting the one responsible. But if I am engaged elsewhere when another tear opens, I may not be able to return in time to prevent whatever he decides to send through from wreaking havoc."

Tony has always been pretty damn good at math, so he nods. "You need us there to corral whatever comes through until you can shut it down."

"Precisely."

"You want us to work with you." And _wow_, Tony thinks, okay, this one actually doesn't compute. Not that anything about the last ten or so minutes – _is that really all it's been? Jesus_ – _does_ compute in any kind of logical way.

There's a dangerous flicker in Loki's eyes this time, one Tony recognizes. "No," he says. "Do not mistake me: I am doing this _only _because my desire to prevent this madman from ending the universe supersedes my desire to grind you to dust beneath my boot. Once this threat has been removed-"

"-back to business as usual," Tony finishes for him. "You try to fuck shit up, we try to stop you, you try to kills us, blah blah blah, full circle."

To his surprise, Loki's dark look breaks and he _laughs _like that's the funniest thing he's heard. It's a real laugh, too, clear and amused and not a bit mocking. Which makes Tony a little uneasy because he's pretty sure he wasn't making a joke there.

But whatever. As long as Loki's laughing and not trying to unspool his intestines – or kissing or fondling him in any way again, because _Jesus Christ_, just _no _– Tony supposes it's all good.

Loki's laughter tapers away to chuckles, and he regards Tony for a moment before finally saying, "You really do have a way of cutting to the heart of matter, Stark. Yes, that's exactly what will happen."

"As long as we're clear," Tony says.

"Indeed."

"So – um. Loki. Not that I don't appreciate the head's up, or the hand-job, but you do know, given your reputation, and, uh, your title_ god of lies,_ you do realize I'm not thinking I should trust you here, right? Because, uh, I kind of _don't_. This sounds like what you'd say to us before, you know, you let us walk into one of these things and get wiped out."

A mocking smirk, and, "Whether or not you trust me is immaterial, Stark. Had I not come to you, you still would have gone running if another of your energy surges occurred, correct?"

Tony frowns. "Well, okay, yes. But – oh. You said it, didn't you? You wanted to make sure we would." He waves that aside. In a rapid succession: "Why the hell _did_ you catch me, anyway? Why not just let me fall? And why are you telling _me_ this? Why are you not telling Thor or somebody else?"

_Why am I not _calling_ Thor or somebody else?_

Oh, right. The not-having-a-cell-phone thing. Which is something that will not happen again _ever_.

Loki moves with spooky preternatural speed, crossing the distance between them so fast Tony doesn't have time to react beyond blinking once, maybe twice.

Large, thin fingers spread themselves out over his shoulders, trail up his neck and jaw. The grip is firm, just this side of painful. Insistent_._ And Tony gets absolutely no warning before his mouth is assaulted again, teeth and tongue and fingers, pushing and pulling and demanding.

Furious all of a sudden, Tony clenches his mouth shut and tries to shove Loki away.

Doesn't budge Loki even an inch.

And something finally just snaps in Tony – the last tenuous thread of sanity holding his temper in check – and he thinks _fuck it_ and retaliates the only way he can: meeting every biting kiss with one of his own, teeth clashing and tearing until he tastes blood in his mouth.

Feels hardness against his hip, and his own growing, but he _does not_ even let himself go there.

Loki tears away, breathing raggedly, and bites down _hard_ on the soft spot below the angle of Tony's jaw, hard enough to make Tony yelp with nothing like pleasure. Another savage nip of the earlobe, and then Loki murmurs, "Because, Stark, you alone of your moronic little band saw what happened. You are, therefore, the only one who would be in a position to at least hear me out. And," he adds, swiping a thumb over Tony's lower lip, "you're fun."

With that, he pulls back and steps away, straightening his clothes as he turns away. "As to why I caught you, I should think that obvious." He tosses a grin over his shoulder, one that is all glittering malevolence and way, way too many teeth. "I mean to see you dead by my hand, and mine alone."

With that, he disappears into the night, leaving Tony to stare dumbly after him.

It is a long time before Tony's legs stop shaking.

Even longer before he's able to move.

xXx

He goes home and heads straight into the shower. Stays under a so-hot-he-can-barely-tolerate-it spray until his skin is pink and tingling, until he smells of nothing but soap and shampoo, until he stops feeling the phantom-whisper of fingers on his jaw, his cheeks, his lips.

On his cock, which– _does not, does _not_ –_ betray him by getting hard at that memory.

_You're fun_.

He reaches down and turns the hot water off, a savage twist of the wrist accompanied by a frustrated snarl. Cold, cold water pounds down at him and, _yeah_, that does the trick.

Once he's out, he heads to his bar and tries to drink himself into forgetfulness.

It doesn't work.

When he awakens later that morning, it's with a pounding head, a rolling gut, and every memory from last night still bright and clear like the most unforgettable kind of nightmare.

And it occurs to him sometime between when he staggers off to the bathroom and when he starts puking his guts out that he's actually pretty fucking lucky he's even alive right now. Also, yeah, he pretty much fucked this one up about as badly as possible.

He never bothered to let anybody know what happened.

Not that he even really knows, because, yeah, what a _mindfuck_, but he could have least checked in with the others and given them an edited head's up about what went down.

He is, he thinks as he climbs back to his feet and makes his shaky way over to the medicine cabinet, just lucky that nothing came up last night. He reaches up to push aside his hollow-eyed and haunted-looking reflection, but pauses and grinds out a few colorful curses when he sees the red _goddamn hickeys_ on his neck and jaw.

"Fucking Loki," he mutters.

Angrily, he swipes the cabinet open and grabs for the bottle of painkillers. Shakes out a small handful and dry-swallows them. Wonders just how the _fuck_ he's going to explain this away.

Pauses, blinking, as a surprisingly rational thought cuts through his anger. "JARVIS, I didn't miss any calls or anything last night, did I?" he asks. "No alerts from Fury or Steve or anything like that?"

"You had a call from Norman Osborn at eight twenty last night, sir," Jarvis replies, "but it was a quiet night otherwise."

"From...? Oh. Okay, good." He fumbles open the pill bottle, shakes out three, and downs them with a cupful of water. That done, he totters over to the shower stall and turns it on. "Do me a favor, would you, and send a message to the mansion. Let them know I'll be over in about an hour. I need to talk to them all ASAP."

"Of course, sir."

With that, Tony strips down and steps into the shower stall.

He does not think about anything.

xXx

_This is not the end  
It's the start of something that I'm really scared of  
That I'm scared to life  
I'm scared to life  
-_Lunatic Soul, "Lunatic Soul"

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	7. Cause it's time to bring the fire down

6. **"'Cause it's time to bring the fire down. Bridle all this indiscretion, long enough to edify, and permanently fill this hollow."**

_A sword bathed in black flames, forged deepest in the fires of a shadow realm, a realm in which light itself fears to tread. The very essence of darkness, of evil. Ancient power passed from ruined hand to ruined hand, a succession of broken kings and madmen who exist only to defile that which the rest of the universe would call good, would call pure._

_Eternal darkness in the living, breathing heart of the universe._

"_Bringer." A whisper from a bloodless mouth, from lips as white as the snow. "We come. We come." The sweet-sick tones of a dying tongue. "Dark-bringer, Child of Winter, you call us. We come. We come."_

_Clenched-cold fury at the base of his spine like a fist wrapped tight._

This was not supposed to happen.

_And Odin's eye – blue, blue as the sky, blue as the sea, Father don't look at me like that, please I can't bear it – on his face, understanding crystallizing into a look of abject, horrified _knowledge_._

"_Loki." Accusation in a broken whisper. Trial and verdict in two symbols._

You did this. You brought this. You made this.

"Brother."_ And Thor, too, in a voice like the thunder, like the sea, like the raging, rolling sea_.

_And he knows he's damned them all, doomed them all, condemned them all._

_Only he doesn't remember how._

_A sword bathed in black flames, lifted by a skeletal hand._

_And the rest is war_.

_Darkness._

_Death._

Gasping, every muscle trembling, his scarred wrists on fire, Loki jerks out of the nightmare, the last of a cry – _his own mewling, terrified cry_ – still echoing off the walls. His flesh feels like it wants to crawl right off his bones, and his insides clench and lurch like they're trying to become his outsides.

He sits up, untangling himself from the bedsheets, absently massaging his burning wrists. A touch of healing magic quenches the worst of the fire, but does not banish it entirely.

Neither does it heal the bands of scar tissue.

_A dream_, he tells himself as his breathing begins to slow. _Merely a dream._

Small comfort, that little lie, but he supposes he'll take what comfort he can.

Warning or portent, he's not sure which. Isn't, it happens, terribly interested in pressing that particular sensitive spot any more than he has to, not until he has some idea what in the name of the Nine Realms he is even _seeing_.

Still exhausted, but no longer interested in attempting sleep, not with late afternoon light seeping in around the edges of his windows, he rises, slips on a loose shirt and trousers, and pads barefoot over to his desk. An open book sits under a small lamp, and the blank pages bob and sway as he sits down, as if entreating him to actually write on them this time instead of sitting with a pen poised above them as he has each of these past few nights.

He picks up an old-fashioned fountain pen and turns it over in his fingers, watching the play of the light on the nib.

It had been his intention to set his thoughts to paper on his escape, to attempt to clear out the clutter and make some sense of the myriad ideas and scattered bits of plans he'd conjured during his incarceration.

Nothing came to hand, though.

At first, he'd chalked it up to exhaustion. After his flight from Asgard and subsequent punishment from the Other, he'd been left with little magical reserve and a broken body, and had had no choice but to allow himself to fall unconscious, to give himself time to heal.

He'd only just begun to heal and build back his reserve when the spike of magical energy had crashed into him. If not for the staff's powerful crystal to give him center, to focus and direct his energies in the most efficient way possible, he would not have been able to tame that – _utterly intoxicating _– dangerous, unruly dimensional magic.

Even now, even with a few quiet days gone and his magic mostly returned, he still does not feel wholly himself. He has been unable to do more than stare at these blank pages while his thoughts churn slow and uneasy and with no sense of purpose, and _why_ he does not know.

He catches himself rubbing his wrist again, and frowns.

Last night, restless at the lack of any movement from the creature Mephisto and unable to concentrate, he'd succumbed to a fit of sheer boredom and had gone out to speak with the mortal Stark. To warn Stark, or so he'd told himself, but on reflection he doubted Stark or his pathetic Avenger friends needed the warning: _trouble_ was something that seemed to attract them like magnets to metal.

At least his encounter with Stark hadn't been boring.

No, indeed, he'd gotten no end of amusement out of finding Stark in such a reckless and vulnerable state. There had been something absolutely _fractured_ about the man, a desperate sense that he'd broken apart and was holding himself together by just a whisper, and Loki had experienced at least a few moments during their brief encounter where he'd felt himself looking into a dark, distorted mirror.

He hadn't allowed himself to linger on those thoughts, however, and had instead found himself twisting Stark up. It had been _fun_. Satisfying, too, in a way-

A surge of wild magical energy washes over him like a wave right then, blinding him, its strength enough to almost unseat him,

Rising, eyes wide, all other thoughts swept aside, he summons his armor and staff to him, and transports himself away.

xXx

"Please tell me this is a joke, Tony," is what Steve says.

He's the only one who has said a word since Tony finished his edited-for-content version of Conversations With Loki. "Last night" became "just a little bit ago," and "outside a club" became "on my balcony" and he makes no mention whatsoever of any physical contact.

Because that never happened.

He will take that one with him to his fucking grave.

The team is gathered in the mansion's kitchen, the six of them in a loose circle around the island. Fury is listening in from back at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, having been included at Steve's insistence.

"It's not," Tony says. "No joke, sorry. He was dead serious."

Thor, leaning back on the counter near the sink, looks up from the floor. "Yes," he says. "This is no jest. I should have realized..."

"What?"

"I never _seen_ such 'tears' before," Thor tells them, his voice the quiet rumble of a distant storm, "but I have heard tales of them. What he told you was true."

"You mean that enough of these things could blow up the whole universe," Clint says. He's near the fridge, arms folded across his chest. "Well, that's great. And so next time this happens, we're supposed to, what, just _hope _Loki shows up? _Fuck that."_

Bruce, on Tony's right, glances over. "You said he _reversed_ the energy?"

Tony shrugs. "Said he turns it in on itself or something. That's something we could do, you think?"

"I don't know." A little frown cuts a line between his eyebrows. "It would probably be easier to do that. We wouldn't actually have to _create_ any energy. Generating energy was the big problem. But-"

"But if we're just turning it around on itself, then we don't have to worry about that."

"Exactly."

"I believe it would be unwise to try," Thor says, sea blue eyes sweeping both Tony and Bruce in one critical glance. "These tears are extremely dangerous. If your science was wrong by even a little, you could-"

"Bring the end of the universe," Bruce finishes for him. "Right."

"Okay," Steve says from Tony's other side. "So where does that leave us?"

"For _my _money," Fury puts in, the unexpected sound of his voice causing Tony to jump a little, "any plan that involves us depending on _Loki_ to show up and help is no plan at all. I don't give a fuck what he says.

"But I agree with Thor that we shouldn't fuck around with these 'tears' if we can't be a hundred percent sure we're not gonna make things worse."

"Which leaves us back at square one," Clint says. "I'm not helping that fucker."

"Yeah, we get it, Clint," Tony says. "And you'll be thrilled to know he doesn't want to help us, either. Mostly he just wants us to take care of whatever comes out of the tears, and stay out of his way. Which is pretty much what happened last time, and that worked fine. Kinda. I think the big picture here is more important: you know, not letting the universe get folded in on itself. How we get there – who cares? We can sort it out once we're done."

"Well said, Tony Stark," Thor says, and Bruce says, "I agree," and both Steve and Tasha nod. Clint's just staring at the floor, eyes hooded and shadowed. And Tony understands: getting mind-fucked the way Clint got mind-fucked, well it was apt to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

Still, as weak as this plan is, it's better than nothing.

Fury says, "Well. Never thought I'd live to see the day Tony Stark actually said something sensible. Wonders never cease."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you too," Tony says. "We're done for now. We'll be in touch. End the call, JARVIS."

The line goes dead, and a really awkward silence falls between all of them.

Tony leans forward over the island and props his chin in his hands, just watching, waiting. Funnily enough, everyone is staring at the floor.

He supposes he doesn't blame them: it's a lot to take in.

It's Steve – naturally – who winds up breaking the silence. He glances at Tony, frowns, clears his throat. "So, um. We heard about what happened yesterday. At your – uh, day job." Because _of course _he's going to bring that up, instead of sticking to the important stuff. "I tried calling. Is everything okay?"

Clint snorts before Tony can even answer. "That's his way of saying 'You look like shit, man. What'd you do, drink yourself to sleep last night?'" He backs away, hands raised defensively, when Tasha turns on him. "All right, all right. I'm sorry. He said it better."

"You probably said it more honestly," Tony mutters, and Jesus, the whole team is just staring at him again. He rubs his forehead – fucking headache is starting to come back – and sighs. "Yeah. Okay, bad day, rough night. But I'm fine. Or I will be. It's not important, and I don't even want to talk about it." He waves that last aside. "Anything come up yesterday I need to know about? Any problems with your rooms? Everything working?"

"Everything is fine," Steve assures him. "Great, actually. Thanks again for letting us stay here."

"Wasn't like I was using it. JARVIS show you guys where the gym and everything is?"

"Yep."

"Good. Great."

Steve stuffs his hands in his pockets, glances around like he's not exactly sure what to say. "So...I guess that's it, then? For now, anyway."

"Yeah," Bruce says. "Guess we hurry up and wait."

"Joy." Clint pushes away from the counter. "I think I'm gonna hit the gym. Anybody up for some sparring? Need to burn off some energy after all that."

"I will join you," Thor says.

"Me too," Steve puts in.

"I'll pass," Bruce says as he shuffles out of the room. "I've got some reading I want to do."

"Tasha?" Clint calls over his shoulder, as he follows Steve and Thor out of the room.

"I'll be down in a second," she tells him. She hovers near the island, fingers ghosting over the shining surface, her expression pensive. "So what really happened?" she asks without really looking at Tony.

She's a master spy and a master interrogator, so _of course_ she would pick up on his bullshit.

"What do you mean?" he asks, because he's not going to give her the satisfaction.

"There was more to the story. With Loki. Something you left out. Did he attack you or something?"

"Nope. But you're right: I did leave something out." He draws a breath. "Loki was rocking this slinky little black dress when he showed up. Sequins and everything, which, it was tacky but he made it work. I just didn't want to _say_ anything because, you know, I don't know how Thor would have taken the news – little brother being a cross-dresser and all."

Tasha's staring, big dark eyes narrowed like she's trying to calculate just how much force she'll need to tear his balls off. "That's not funny," she says. "You're keeping things from us, just like Fury did. Why?"

"Whoa, whoa, hey now, missy! Them's fighting words." Or they would be if he wasn't sure she'd kick his ass three times before he could throw a punch. "I don't keep important things from people. What I keep from people are stupid, insignificant things that don't matter. Especially when they don't matter."

Which, okay, technically isn't really true _–_ there was that whole 'I'm dying' thing he kept form Pepper once up one a time – but still. It sounds good.

Good enough for most people, at least, this is Tasha, who has made a genuine art of peeling back people's layers to expose every lie hidden between. She's a real human lie detector, Tasha is, and standing there in her dark pants and tee shirt she looks like somebody whose needles are jumping all over the fucking chart.

Tony shifts, lifts his chin, crosses his arms. Deciding he's just done with this conversation, he says, "It was nothing important. Okay? I promise."

"Hey, Tony?" Bruce calls from the doorway just then. He walks into the kitchen and pulls up short. "Whoa."

Finally breaking eye contact with Tasha, Tony glances over at Bruce. "Yeah, Bruce, what's up?"

Bruce clears his throat. "Is – everything okay in here?"

"Absolutely," Tony says, all too-big grin and false cheer.

To his surprise, Tasha nods, smiles a much more natural smile and says, "Everything's fine, Bruce," as she heads out of the kitchen.

Bruce frowns after her. "You know," he murmurs, "she kind of scares me sometimes."

"Me, too, buddy," Tony admits. "Me too. But at least she's on our side."

"True."

Tony pushes away from the cabinet and turns for the door. "So! You feel like making a trip to the basement?"

Blinking, Bruce turns to follow. "Actually, I was going to see if you'd show me around your lab. But – okay. What for?"

"It's down there, too. And you'll see when we get there." He hangs a left and leads the way to the stairs. "So, you getting settled in okay?"

"So far so good," Bruce replies. "This place is..."

"Gaudy? Huge? A testament to the old man's ego and paranoia?" Tony nods. "I know."

Bruce shrugs and follows Tony down the long staircase. "I was going to say impressive, actually."

"Oh."

"It is pretty huge."

Tony grins. "So I've been told."

Bruce snorts. "And you say your old man had an ego."

"Ha, yeah." Tony looks away, grin slipping. "So, um. Things okay with the _other guy_, then?"

"As – okay as they ever are , I guess," Bruce replies, a frown in his voice. "He's not going anywhere, but we're...dealing. I guess." There's a pause, and then, quietly, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Hmm? No, no. And – yeah, that's good." Tony flashes a distracted smile over his shoulder. "So I've been thinking. We have three floors underground here. It's not all finished, so if we're gonna use this as headquarters, we could set up spaces for everybody to, you know, work on stuff."

They reach the bottom of the stairs and Tony leads the way down one hall and over to a service elevator. He hesitates, fractionally, before hitting the button – there's just something about the idea of getting into an tiny, confined space with a guy who has a giant, unpredictable rage monster inside that doesn't sit well with him. But it's_ Bruce_ there, kindred spirit and all, and Tony refuses to be an asshole.

Bruce has enough problems _inside_; last thing he needs is idiots making it worse _outside_.

Once the elevator doors have closed, Bruce glances over and says, "So how long are you going to let it be an elephant in the room?"

Tony leans sideways against the wall. "What?"

"What happened with your company yesterday. Which you're going out of your way not to talk about."

"W-? Oh. That. Well, there's really nothing to say, is there? I'm taking time off to work on other projects. I have those."

"It wasn't a voluntary leave, though, was it?"

"Not exactly." Tony shrugs, shakes his head. "But it's done, so that's it. Nothing I can do about it. And, anyway, it really doesn't have anything to do with any of you guys, so..."

Bruce blinks, a puzzled look in his eyes. "Yeah, but it affects _you_, and you're part of the team."

_Aren't you_?

It looks for a second like Bruce wants to say more than that – he draws in a breath like he's going to – but he winds up closing his mouth and looking away.

And this, for some reason, hits Tony funny: an odd little tug in the back of his mind, and a – very, very – small warmth flaring down deep, like a tiny flickering candle in a very dark room. He digs up a tired smile and says, "Well, I guess if there's an upside, I'll be around more."

"That's true," Bruce says with an awkward chuckle. "We'll probably be sick of you in a week."

"A week?" Tony laughs. "If you can last a week with me around, then I'm doing something wrong."

The elevator coasts to a smooth stop, and, still laughing, the two of them step out into a dimly-lit hallway.

The doors haven't even finished closing when JARVIS, patched in through the old intercom system, says, in a quiet, tinny voice, "Sir, Director Fury is on the line. He says it's urgent."

Tony looks at Bruce, who just sighs.

xXx

More energy surges, it turns out. In DC again.

And so, the Avengers assemble.

xXx

Tasha flies them all over in one of the quinjets.

"We've picked up five so far," Fury tells them on the way over, his voice cool and calm despite the apparent gravity of the situation. "Two near the White House, one by the Capitol Building, and the other two by the monuments. All kinds of shit coming out of them, too. More of those fucking green bombs. All kinds of robots. Some kind of big flying thing that's blowing fire all over everything-"

"What, like a dragon?" Tony cuts in.

Because it sounds a lot like a dragon.

"_No_, Stark. It's not a fucking dragon. Now shut up and listen. We're getting people out as fast as we can, but you're gonna be walking into a shit storm, so be ready. And one other thing, just as a head's up – we've seen Loki twice now. It looks like he's closed down a couple of these fucking things, but every time he shuts one down another one shows up."

Steve glances over at Thor, who looks like he's on the verge of smiling. "What are our orders regarding Loki, sir?"

"Just keep an eye on him, if you can," Fury says. "If you can catch him, fine. Don't waste any time on it. We've got a whole mess of fish to fry down there."

"Understood, sir. Iron Man will be in the air in three minutes, and I'll let you know when the rest of us are on the ground."

"Copy."

The comm goes quiet.

The entire cabin goes quiet, save the engines' hum.

Clint is looking hard at the captain, who is busy pretending to examine his shield.

"What is our plan?" Thor finally asks, deep voice cutting neatly through the tense silence. He has Mjolnir in hand, and, dressed in his polished armor, he just _looks_ like a he belongs out in the middle of a battlefield. Badass warrior_,_ and he's not even _trying_.

Tony, tucked away in the Iron Man suit, totally doesn't envy him that. Nope. He says, "Cap? I think you're up. Plans?"

Frowning, the captain looks down at his shield again. "Well, there's five of those things. Six of us. I don't necessarily like the idea of splitting everybody up, but we're going to have to try to contain whatever's out there best we can."

"Yeah, splitting us up worked really well last time," Clint says, scowling. "Didn't it, Iron Man?"

Cap's jaw clenches. "If you have a better idea, I'm all ears."

"Look, those green things are going to blow shit up no matter what we do to them," Clint points out. "The more we tried to take them out, the more damage they did. So I say we just say fuck it and try to stay out of their way. Deal with the robots or whatever else is flying around out there."

"Keep them away from people as much as possible," Steve says. "That was pretty much my idea. But you're right – let's avoid the bombs. Just focus on the things we can do something about. Clint, you stay with Tasha. I'll stay with Thor. And-"

"And that leaves me and the big guy," Tony says, glancing at Bruce. Bruce is sitting quietly, staring down at his hands. Most likely trying hard to stay in control until they're out of the air, which is a good plan, as far as Tony can see.

"And what of my brother?" Thor asks. "Do we attempt to capture him?"

It's Steve who says, "If he's actually closing those things down, then I think we should just let him. Like the director says, if the opportunity comes up, we can take it. If not, well, somehow I doubt this'll be the last time we see him."

"Just our fucking luck," Clint mutters. But he nods. "Yeah, let's not waste any time on him we don't have to."

"Guys, _look at this_," Tasha calls back, her voice tight, almost strangled. Her face, what Tony can see of it, is white.

When he gets an eyeful himself, he understands why.

It is pure, absolute pandemonium out there: a nightmare mishmash of flying fire-breathers – which, okay, look more like birds than dragons – and the green bombs and robots shooting and smoke billowing up like storm clouds from hundreds of small fires: cars, buildings, even the ground itself appears to be burning.

There are bodies, too, small but distinct from this high up.

_Jesus Christ_, Tony thinks sickly, turning away. "Let me off," he tells Tasha. "Now."

She nods and hits the button to open the rear door.

Steve catches his eye. "Be careful out there."

"Yeah," Tony says. He glances at Bruce, who's still sitting and staring at his hands. "I'm heading to the White House. See you on the ground, big guy."

"...yeah."

With that, Tony launches straight into the heart of chaos.

xXx

It's like waking up in the middle of a pinball game: a blur of things bouncing off him and things speeding at him and a wall of noise. He zips through it as best he can, dodging the flying green things and the smoke columns, and the birds he sees not only breathe fire but also spit out some kind of oily substance beforehand – he gets a bit of it on his suit – that they use to spread the fire.

He makes it to the White House just about the time Cap says he and the others are on the ground.

Hovering near the same tree he'd hovered behind the last time (just a couple of days ago, Jesus, was that really all it was?), he decides it's not as bad as he'd feared: the White House looks like it's still standing, even if the fence is gone and half the trees are burning. It's not good_, _though_:_ there's one of those sun-bright white tears just up the street spitting out green bombs, which have turned Pennsylvania Avenue into a pitted, impassible mess of chunked concrete and flipped-over, husked-out cars.

Just inside what used to be the White House fence is the second tear, a big one, out of which another goddamn robot army is rolling and marching.

Tony passes along that information to the rest of the team, all of whom are now fanning out to tackle the fires at the other tear sites. Captain tells him not to wait.

Briefly, Tony wonders where the hell Loki is.

And it's like the thought is a summons, because all of a sudden Loki's right below where Tony's hovering, just appearing out of nowhere like some damn magician reached into a hat and pulled him out. He's wearing his armor this time, reindeer hat and all, but it looks like it's a little beat up, scuffed and dented in places, and there's a bit of a limp in his step.

He's completely nonchalant when he approaches the tear where green bombs are coming from, pausing behind it, lifting his hands, and in literally a matter of twenty seconds, shrinking it to nothing.

_Huh,_ Tony thinks, _that was easy_.

Which, of course, is the point when basically all the robots turn and start shooting at him.

Tony bites off a curse and shoots out from behind the tree, guns and rockets blazing. He veers off toward where Loki is fending off advancing wheeled robots with blasts from his staff, bolts of blue firing out almost faster than Tony can see. It's not enough, though: for every one Loki manages to take out, two more are right behind it.

Tony makes a couple of breathless, diving passes right over them, firing without really even needing to aim. Most of his shots punch through the awkward-looking oblong metal heads, and drop better than a dozen of the things in each pass.

It also draws their fire away from Loki, and as Tony begins to make his third diving pass, he calls out, "Hey! Go do your thing. I'll keep 'em busy."

Without waiting for an answer, he swings down so he's right between Loki and the wheeled robots. Behind him, he hears, "Aim for the yellow in the center. That appears to be the source of their power."

And sure enough, as soon as Tony shoots one in its glowing yellow chest, it goes down. "All right, I got it," he says. "Go on. I'll cover you. JARVIS! New plan: aim for the yellow bullseye!"

"Yes, sir. Calculating." The suit adjusts automatically, and Tony, dodging hundreds of little energy projectiles, starts firing again.

He keeps flying just low enough to keep the robots engaged, spinning and twisting and shooting, drawing the robots further and further away from the tear. More than once he gets hit, and _stings_ like shit – it's about like getting hit with a paintball – but the suit absorbs most of the impact and energy, so no actual damage is done to the suit,_ and_ he gets a bit of a power bump from the energy, which helps.

Eventually, Loki gets the tear reversed, which creates the same vacuum effect as before. Tony wrangles the remaining robots close enough to get caught up in the tear's pull, making sure to keep clear of the tear's pull himself.

Once the majority of the robots have been sucked back down the rabbit hole, Loki starts to close the tear.

Just as he's about to finish, just as Tony starts to think, hey, at least they managed to keep the White House from being blown apart, Tony's sensors pick up a huge energy surge right over his head.

There's a sound like _snap-snap_-_BOOM, _and another white thing flashes into existence about five hundred feet in the air. It starts dropping green bombs down right over where Loki's still standing, hands raised and the last of his magic working on the portal in front of him.

Tony doesn't even think, just reacts, diving forward as fast as he can to more-or-less _scoop_ Loki up and fly him the hell out of the way. It's clumsy and inelegant – Loki's heavy, and he nearly stabs Tony first with the antlers and then with the staff as he struggles in Tony's grasp.

"What are you _doing_?" he roars. "Put me down!"

"Hold _still_!" Tony grits as the suit pitches and lists in a desperate attempt to compensate for the extra weight in his arms. He wheels around in a clumsy circle to face the new tear and snaps, "_Look_."

Loki does stop struggling and, on seeing the new tear, mutters, "...ah."

"Yeah. You're welcome." _Jesus._ "Can you close that from the ground?"

"No," is the terse answer. "If you can, ah, fly me up to it, I can."

"Okay," Tony says, thinking. The conclusion he draws makes him grimace, but – shit. What choice is there? "Well, listen, don't read anything into this, but I want you to climb on my back. It's too awkward for me to fly you up like this."

In many, many ways.

Loki's sudden grin is unexpected, startling: the sun appearing for the first time after days of clouds. "Ooh, so you're saying you want me to _ride you, _Stark?"

"Yeah," Tony deadpans. "Hard."

And, hey, why not? He's probably done weirder things as Iron Man, but off-hand he can't think of very many. At all. So what the hell? Might as well go for it.

He slows and swings his arms up, and Loki, with his damnable feline grace, settles himself on Tony's back in just a matter of seconds, long legs tucked up along Tony's sides, torso leaned down over Tony's back. "Better?" he asks.

"Yeah," Tony says as he lays on the speed again. And it is, mostly because the weight is distrubited more evenly, but also because now he can't actually _see_ Loki. _Feeling_ him is bad enough. "How close do you need to be?"

"As close to the underside as you can get me. Just stay along the edge, out of the path of whatever's falling out."

He flies up higher, skirting the line of falling green bombs, until he's almost close enough to touch the white tear. Up close, it makes this kind of electrical buzzing sound, like live power wires cut down in the middle of a street.

When Loki goes to close the thing, Tony can actually feel the surge of energy around him. It's enough to make all the tiny hairs stand up all over his body. His suit sensors have a hell of a time even tracking the amount of energy involved, it's so massive.

It only Loki takes a few seconds to shut it down – he's getting better at this, Tony thinks – and when it's over, JARVIS chimes up in Tony's ear. "Sir, suit power is now at three hundred percent."

"Three...? Loki, did you do something to my suit? I just got a massive power boost."

"I did nothing," Loki replies, the accented words drifting down from somewhere overhead. "Perhaps your suit absorbed some of the tear's energy? There was some residue."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay. That makes sense. So, I guess I'll just put you down now."

"If I may make a suggestion?"

"What?"

"I can sense two more of these tears up this high. It would be simplest for me to close them if you would, ah, allow me ride you over to them."

_Asshole_. Tony pretends he can't hear the laughter in Loki's voice, because _seriously_. "Shit," he mutters. "All right, fine. JARVIS, give me coordinates on the nearest tear at current altitude."

A moment later, JARVIS has the coordinates set and Tony speeds off – flying a hell of a lot faster than before, thanks to the energy boost – in that direction. Loki is crouched down low over him, one long arm wrapped around his chest, and...

...at some point, Loki starts laughing, this low and somehow _delighted_ sound, which sounds nothing at all like his usual sharp, cutting mockery of a laugh.

"What's so funny?" Tony asks, as he skirts around a thick smoke-cloud.

"I have never flown like this before," Loki says, his voice coming from somewhere around the back of Tony's neck. "I imagine it looks perfectly ridiculous, but it's actually quite enjoyable."

Yeah, okay, _no_, Tony's not supposed to laugh at that, but he does, quietly and to himself, because there's something almost _wondering_ in the crazy fucker's voice, like a kid waking up on Christmas morning to a roomful of present. Or maybe a kid stepping onto a roller-coaster for the first time.

_...or maybe _you_, the first time you took your suit out for a flight?_

"Glad you're enjoying yourself," he says dryly. "Now shut up and hang on. We're about to hit traffic." Up ahead, he can see a clusterfuck of those bird-things. They are literally _everywhere_, breathing their fire and making their mindless, cawing noises. He dives down low, a sharp, swift movement that, okay, is a little fun, but he absolutely does ignore the surprised, amused sound his passenger makes.

And, oh, he _hopes _nobody on the team is seeing this.

Shouldn't have thought that, because of course:

"_Stark_?" An incredulous snap over the 'comm. "What in the _fuck_ are you _doing_?" Clint, sounding constipated and pissed off. "Please tell me he's attacking you so I can fucking shoot him."

One of those big fire-breathing birds swoops overhead just then, and Tony banks hard to his left to stay out of its sight-line. "No," he says through his teeth. "We're heading up to close down the tears overhead. Just – don't say a word. _I know._"

"Tony, what's going on?" Steve asks. "Where _are _you?"

"Heading up to the Capitol Building," Tony replies. He can see the tear up ahead. More of the fire-breathing bird things are flying out of it. "It's all clear over at the White House, so I'm, ah, giving Loki a lift up to the tear up there. Only way he can close those things down. _Don't say a word_."

"I wasn't going to," Steve replies. "Do you what you have to. Thor, Hulk, and I are on the ground down below you. There's another tear down here. More robots."

"Yeah, I see you guys," Tony says, angling up _hard_ to avoid yet another of the bird things. He'd caught a glimpse of green and red and blue in the middle of what looked like hundredsof those robot things. "Hey, I thought you were gonna send Hulk my way."

"Sorry about that. We got hit hard right out of the jet. I was about to send him to you-"

"I'm good here. Hey, do me a favor and try to clear out a path around that tear. Soon as we're done up top, I'll bring Loki down and have him close it."

He doesn't hear Cap's reply, because Loki says, in a voice bright with urgency, "I suggest you _move,_ Stark. We've attracted an admirer."

One of the fire-breathers, Tony's sensors tell him, and it's right on his heels.

"_Dammit_," Tony growls. He banks left, shooting the gap between a couple of buildings at something just shy of breakneck speed just as the bird spits greasy fire from its beak. Most of it boils past them, but some of the oily stuff gets all over his legs and flares alight. Alarms start going off inside Tony's helmet.

"Hey, put out that fire!" he calls, and _fuck _– the bird thing dives around the building, and comes straight at them.

All of a sudden, there's a _massive_ temperature drop along Tony's back. As the bird opens its beak to breathe fire all over them, a blast of ice hits it full on. The fire hisses where it touches the ice, and oily water drops everywhere like rain.

"Keep flying at it, Stark!" Loki calls down, and Tony suddenly remembers, randomly, that last time he'd seen such a drastic temperature drop, Loki had turned blue.

Tony zooms up to the bird, and the ice freezes the bird's beak, then its head, and then its body, and it drops out of the sky to shatter on the ground below.

Which, okay, is kind of bad-ass.

The portal is just up ahead, and Tony wastes absolutely no time darting between and above the birds to get to it. Of course, by the time they reach it, they've got maybe a dozen of the ugly gray things following them, with another dozen or so streaking over.

"_Hurry_!" Tony urges as he pulls to a stop at the edge of the tear. He angles himself up enough that he can at least _shoot_ at the damned things. In doing so, he discovers that targeting the eyes seems to work best, so he aims and shoots as fast as he can, even as the sky boils fire around them.

"Move above it, Stark," Loki says at some point. "Otherwise, we'll be pulled in."

He goes cold again and starts shooting ice at the birds as Tony flies them a short distance above the tear. The bird-things – two, maybe three dozen by now – get sucked into the tear, squawking and screaming fire and beating their leathery wings hard against against a force that refuses to let them go.

Once they're gone, Loki seals the tear. After that's done, his temperature climbs back up somewhere toward normal again.

"Cap!" Tony calls, turning once more, "we're coming your way."

"Come on down, Tony. We're all ready for you."

He flies Loki down a smoke-filled, but mercifully bird-free street. The place looks like a war zone, all burned-out buildings and smoking cars, debris everywhere, and a deep quiet over everything like those first terrible stunned moments after a bomb blast.

There are a few people staggering around, but, more distressingly, there are many people down there who _aren't_ moving.

But there's no time to worry about them, not really, so Tony clenches his teeth and presses on.

When they reach the Capitol Building, they find that Thor, Cap, and Hulk have reduced almost the entire field of robots to scrap. Steve and Hulk are up near the tear itself now, dealing with what few stragglers they missed.

Tony lands easily, and heads over to his teammates while Loki takes care of the tear.

Cap looks a little worse for wear: there are a whole bunch of rips in his costume, with red welts visible in the skin. Hulk, too, is the same way, his green skin mottled with darker green welts. But they're both standing and Steve actually grins when Tony approaches.

"You guys okay?" Tony asks, flipping up his faceplate.

"Yeah," Steve replies. "You?"

"Fine. Where's Thor?"

"I sent him over to help Clint and Tasha." He darts a quick look at Loki, whose staff is glowing bright blue as he draws his hands together over the tear. "I thought it was probably better to save the family reunion until we're done."

"Ah. Good thinking."

"Any sign of what's causing all this?"

"None that I've seen," Tony says.

"He is here," Loki says. He has finished with the tear and is walking over. There are raised red welts on his hands and face, his skin is ashy-pale, and there's a bit of a sag to his shoulders, but for all that he still manages to give off an air of absolute unconcern as he strolls through all the twisted metal and heaps of broken parts. Pausing nearest Tony, he adds, "I have seen him twice, but was in no position to catch him either time."

It's that awkward moment when enemies are standing in the same place at the same time, not being enemies, and not really sure exactly how things are going to go, so the silence is about uncomfortable as silence can get.

"If you see something red and black," Loki finally offers, glancing between Cap and Tony, "that is him."

"Oh," Cap says, clearing his throat. "Okay. Um. Red and black. What is he?"

"A creature from another realm," Loki says. "I know little of him, save that he is extremely dangerous."

"Right. Gotcha." Cap glances up at Hulk, who's staring down at Loki like a hungry dog staring at a steak. "We should go help the others."

"Yeah," Tony says. He glances at Loki. "We still have one more in the air we need to-"

He cuts off when his sensors start wigging out on him, alarms braying steady and urgent. JARVIS says, "Detecting another energy surge in your immediate vicinity, sir. I suggest you vacate the area."

"Yeah, thanks for that," Tony mutters. He kicks off the ground, and says, "We got another one incoming. Move."

But his warning's not fast enough. There's another of those _snap-snap-BOOM_ sounds, this one enough to shake the ground around them, and the the sky literally rips open.

Right behind Hulk.

Hulk is thrown forward from the force of it, but he lands on his feet, _howls,_ and turns to _charge_ the goddamn thing.

"Wait!" Steve yells from where he's just picking himself up off the ground. "Don't!"

Of course Hulk ignores him. Big Green charges down the tear, moving faster than anything that big should actually be _able_ to. He swings one massive arm like he's trying to punch the thing, and his entire arm just disappears into it.

His rage-filled bellow becomes pain-tinged, but when he pulls his arm back, he's actually holding something: a struggling being of some kind with blood red skin and black hair, something that looks oddly to Tony like a cartoon artist's vision of the devil. He's big, but Hulk is a lot bigger, and his struggles stop in a hurry after Hulk slams it to the ground a few times.

Loki, a little green around the gills all of a sudden, walks over to the tear and closes it. He keeps shooting Hulk these wary sideways glances as he does, like he's afraid Hulk's going to come after him next.

Cap heads over to the unconscious devil-thing and says, "What is _this_?"

"That, I believe is Mephisto," Loki tells him, the word the same growl that he'd always used for the word _Avengers, _like word just tastes bad. "He's the one doing this. Or was, if your...Hulk didn't kill him."

Hulk twitches toward Loki, who takes a big step back, eyes wide.

Tony touches back down on the ground, landing between the two. "Easy, big guy," he says. He's not really sure who he's talking to, but he doubts it matters: neither one pays attention to him.

"We could use a hand down here, if you guys can spare one," Tasha calls over the 'comm just then. "We're getting overrun."

"Running out of ammo," Clint puts in. "So hurry the fuck up already."

Steve flinches. "We're on our way. Hang tight." He hesitates, though, casting a dubious look at the unmoving red-and-black creature. "What do we do about him? I don't want to just leave him here."

"If you would like," Loki says, "I can bind him so he cannot escape."

"What, like tie him up?" Tony asks. "Kinky."

Loki shoots him a look. "I was thinking something a little _colder_, actually. He would not be able to move until he can be retrieved. _If_ your beast left..." He swallows, casting another wary look up at Hulk. "If, that is, he is still even alive."

Cap's gaze flicks back and forth between Hulk, Tony, and Loki, a frown clouding normally clear eyes. "All right," he finally says. He touches the side of his mask. "Director," he says, "we think we caught the thing that caused all this. We're going to have Loki, um, make it so he can't move. Can you spare anybody to come down at get him?"

"We've got a few people in the area," Fury says. "I'll send them over. What are we looking at?"

As the captain answers, it occurs to Tony that he hadn't heard from Fury once during the entire firefight.

Which – he can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

And he's still trying to puzzle that one out when the captain turns to him and says, "We're going ahead to meet the others. See you two there."

_Make sure Loki does what he says_, is the message Tony reads in the Steve's cool-steel eyes.

"Sure," Tony mutters, wondering just _when the hell_ it became his goddamn job to babysit.

Steve reaches up to clap Hulk's forearm. "Come on, big guy. Let go smash."

Hulk grunts, grins his mad grin, and leaps away, with Cap following on his heels.

Alone again, and feeling kind of awkward and tired and weirded the hell out because Captain Fucking America has just referred to them as "you two" like they're actually a _pair _or something, Tony glances at Loki. Loki appears just as discomfited, all hooded eyes and thinned lips and a pensive frown cutting lines in his forehead.

And because Tony apparently has no filter between his brains and his mouth, he blurts, "So this is weird, isn't it? Us working together. It's..."

"Strange, yes," Loki says. "I – yes. We should..."

"Right," Tony says.

Because they _should_.

But they don't.

There's this _thing_ that happens, this weird little moment, where they kind of just stand there and _stare_ at each other, and Tony has no idea what the hell is going on, but he finds that trying to look away is like trying to fall _up – _can't do it – and it kind of freaks him the fuck out because he doesn't really _want_ to look away.

And he _is not_ thinking about biting kisses in the dark.

_Is not. At all_. Thinking about things like that would just be wrong, considering they're right in the middle of a fucking _battle_ field, with a lot of work left to do.

And besides that, _it never happened_.

...except he's pretty sure it did. And if he was still a gambling man, he'd bet he knew exactly what was going through Loki's head right then.

Which is just fifteen kinds of fucked up, because seriously.

Tony shakes himself and finally breaks eye contact. Slaps his faceplate back down. "Uh, yeah, so – uh. The binding thing? You should do that. We need to go."

Loki blinks, face clearing, and nods. Without a word, he walks over to Mephisto's downed carcass and kneels. "He still draws breath," he murmurs, setting his staff aside. "Pity."

Rising, he turns cold and frosty blue again as this glowing blue cube suddenly appears in his hands. He uses it to encase Mephisto in a layer of ice so thick Mephisto becomes nothing more than a few flecks of red and black in a field of startling white.

That done, he makes the cube disappear. "That will hold him until he's ready to be retrieved," he says, reaching for his staff.

"Good," Tony says. "Hop aboard, then. Let's get this done."

Loki barks a humorless laugh and says, "Agreed."

xXx

In the end, it's pretty anticlimactic.

They have to deal with a few more of the fire-breathing birds – Loki's cape gets singed all to hell from one of them – and so much smoke Tony can barely see, but eventually they make it up to the tear.

The others are still fighting on the ground when at last Tony touches down, a mad swarm of maybe two hundred robots still creating all kinds of hell, and he races off to join them.

He's pretty battle-numb at this point, is pretty sure they all are, but he fights anyway, using up the last of his ammo on a group that's gone after an ammo-less Hawk.

Thor and Hulk do most of the work, Thor still a whirling dervish with his Hammer – even if he seems to have to pause for breath a little longer after each toss – and Hulk mindlessly smashing his way through machine after machine. Widow holds her own, too, using her impressive speed to help her leap up to snap one robot's head off and then kick another right in that yellow spot on the chest. Hawk and Cap are in pretty much the same boat, using fists and feet and hands to tear apart and smash.

It's a slog, but finally, _finally_ it's over.

And when the last robot finally squeals its electronic death throes, they all lower their hands and their weapons into a deafening silence, and they just look at each other, stunned and marveling at the fact that they're still all standing.

They're all beat up, all covered in welts and cuts and bruises, but nobody's actually _hurt_, which is a minor miracle in an of itself.

It's as good a sign as any that, hey, maybe they're getting this team thing right, after all.

Tony's the first one to look around.

He is not surprised, whatsoever, to discover that Loki has disappeared.

Not a bit.

xXx

Neither, it turns out, is he surprised when he learns that S.H.I.E.L.D. never captured Mephisto.

They'd had to scramble a helicopter because the roads were so blasted-up, and they'd arrived at the scene just in time to see Loki blast the ice-cocoon apart, grab the creature under one arm, and disappear.

In the back of the quinjet, away from the others, Steve glares at Tony as the news comes in.

Tony, slumped into a seat, just shrugs. "You expected something else? It's Loki. Of course he's going to screw us somehow. Not one of the good guys, remember? Only helping us because he had to."

It's a relief to be able to say that, a relief to be able to shove Loki back into that 'bad guy' box, because, really, that's where the crazy fuck belongs.

Tony certainly never expected anything else, just because they had one – _weirdly fun_ – mission where they were fighting on the same side.

Because guys like Loki, bad guys-

-_like you?-_

-never really change.

And Steve seems to understand this, because he reaches over and claps Tony's shoulder. "You did good work out there, Tony. And don't worry – the next time he shows his face around here, we'll be ready for him."

Tony offers a weak smile. "Of course we will, Cap," he says.

Because, yeah.

Guys like that never change.

And it's stupid to think otherwise.

xXx

_Screaming feed me here  
__Fill me up again  
__Temporarily pacifying  
_-A Perfect Circle, "The Hollow"

A/N: Thanks for reading and for all the reviews, folks!


	8. Guess it's better to turn this way

7. **"And try one, try two. Guess it always comes down to alright, okay, guess it's better to turn this way."**

Loki, head high and triumph singing in his veins, lets the still-frozen Mephisto fall at his feet. "I believe," he says with a cool smile, "this belongs to you."

Thanos, who had simply been watching him from across the darkened room, face expressionless, inclines his head. "So it would seem," he says. He glances at his pet Other, who is lurking off to one side. "Secure it below. I will be down shortly."

The Other bows low and moves to do as bid. He shoots a single, baleful glare Loki's direction as he does.

Loki straightens his staff.

The Other flinches, slightly.

Loki's smile widens, slightly.

As soon as the Other has gone with Mephisto, Loki returns his attention to Thanos. "Will you kill him?"

There is a long pause at this. Thanos's eyes burn like a pair of stars, unpredictable and unstable. When he grins, it is full of the same fire, uncontrolled and unpredictable and frightening in its intensity. "Eventually," he says.

A momentary fear drives Loki's own smile away, and he finds he can't repress a shudder.

Thanos laughs. The sound, off-balance and off-kilter, booms and echoes around them. "This was the fate I had in mind for _you_, once."

"How fortunate for me, then, that you chose to spare me that," Loki says.

"That fate may be yours yet, godling, if you fail me again."

"If-? Am I to take it that you will allow me to work for you?" Once again, he chooses his words with the utmost care: as if he _wishes_ continued association with this madman.

"I will," Thanos replies. "I will require a portal to bring my army to Earth. When the time comes, you will create one."

"Is that your plan, then? To bring an army to Earth?"

"That is the only part with which you need concern yourself, godling."

"Ah. If I may...?"

"Speak."

"I have fought both with and against the Avengers," Loki says. "I can assure you the so-called 'army' Mephisto sent through was nowhere near sufficient in _any_ respect to be of any real threat. The Avengers are..." He trails off, frowning as he tries to find the appropriate term. "Determined," he say at last. "No matter the personal cost, they will fight to defend what's theirs. It makes them a more formidable enemy than I expect you realize. The army you bring to bear will need to be _far more_ formidable."

The slash of Thanos's mouth curls up into something that looks like a sneer. "Is that _respect_, godling? Or have you simply been cowed?"

"Neither," Loki replies evenly. "I'm simply choosing not to underestimate them. I did that once, and it cost me dearly." He brushes the words aside, waving a hand as if to chase irksome insects away. "I will not make that mistake twice. Fighting alongside them as I have has given me insight into the way they operate – insight, I might add, which you currently appear to lack."

Glowing eyes regard Loki for a long moment, with something Loki suspects – _hopes_ – is contemplation. At last, Thanos nods. "I have resources enough to raise an army capable of conquering Earth a hundred times over. It will take some time – time which you will use to devise the means to bring them to Earth."

"Of course," Loki murmurs.

"You will tell me what you know of these 'formidable' warriors. I will decide how best to begin dismantling them while my army prepares. When the time comes, there will be nothing to stand in my way."

Loki raises his staff, looks Thanos dead in his fiery eyes, and says, "No."

There is a thunderstruck silence. Then: "_No?"_

"_No," _Loki repeats. "I will tell you what I know, I will advise you on the best way to proceed, and I will assist you in bringing your army to Earth, but I mean to take care of the Avengers myself. I will see them dead by my own hand. That is _not_ negotiable.

"It isn't," he adds, "as if it's much of a risk. You will have your portal before I take any action. If I fail with the Avengers, you'll still have the means to transport your army to Earth. And you'll be rid of one more thorn in your side." He says this last with a bright, brittle grin, all in the teeth and nothing in the eyes: a ghastly mad joker's grin.

Thanos's matching grin is every bit as mad, every bit as ghastly; his eyes flicker and flare with some kind of unholy light. "If you wish to die, godling, I will not stand in your way."

"No, I didn't think you would."

"Very well. Tell me, then, what you know."

And Loki tells him.

xXx

When he returns to his hiding place it is shading toward dawn.

He strips away his armor, sits at his desk, and begins to write.

He does not stop until nightfall.

xXx

Sometime around the fifteen time he catches Clint glowering at him, Tony decides he's had enough. "_What_?" he snaps.

They're in the mansion's kitchen again, just the two of them, waiting for the rest of the team to show up. As everyone had stepped out of the quinjet, Steve had asked them to get changed and get up to the kitchen for a team meeting.

Why, Tony has no idea, but he's too sore and too tired to really care. Since he's planning to head back to his tower once this meeting is over, he's still in his suit, mostly. It's doing that whole thing where it feels like it weighs a ton despite being designed not to.

Carting Loki's heavy ass around really took it out of him.

Clint, wearing black sweats and a black tee shirt, looks as worn down and beat up as Tony feels: dark circles under his eyes, welts all over his face and forearms, shoulders a little slumped as he leans back against the fridge. His eyes are clear, though, calm and intent, as they search Tony's face.

He says, "So how the fuck did you end up playing magic carpet, anyway?"

Tony frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"Loki. How the hell did he convince you to fly him around? It was some kind of mind mojo, right? He hit you with some kind of whammy?"

"No. No whammy."

"Then...?"

Something in Tony bristles as the question, so he decides to ignore it altogether. "What, are you jealous or-"

"What? _Fuck_ no."

"-something? Because if you want to ride, all you have to do is speak up."

"Jesus, what the _fuck_?"

"Seriously." Tony tips him a wink. "Anytime, Hawk. Just say the word and I'll let you, ah, climb aboard."

Clint blinks, but then, to Tony's surprise, he grins, sudden and vicious. "Good to know, buddy," he says. "I'll keep that in mind. But back to my question. Since when do you-"

"Since it was the only choice we had," Tony says over him. "There was literally no other way those tears were getting shut down otherwise. Like I said, _I know_. So just don't, okay? End of discussion."

"End of what discussion?" Steve asks as he and Thor walk into the kitchen. "Everything okay in here?"

"Yeah, fine," Tony says. "Just offering to give Hawk here some flying lessons." He pushes away from the cabinet, shaking his head as he glances over at Steve. "Is there any way I can talk you into postponing this little post-game recap for a day or two? It's late, we're all tired, and I can't think of anything that we need to cover that can't wait until the morning."

"Hot date?" Clint asks. "Or your right hand?"

"Either hand, actually," Tony replies, glancing over with raised eyebrows. "I don't like to limit my options. Unless _you're _free."

That grin again, flat and hard. "You think I'd be a hot date?"

"Flaming." Tony smiles benignly. "Wanna fly the friendly skies?"

"Not tonight, man. Besides, your suit has too much equipment for my taste."

"Eh. Your loss. Left hand it is."

Steve's face and ears are flushed red when he says, "Didn't need to know that, Tony. But we actually need to talk clean up, so..." He glances toward the door, folds his arms over his spotless white tee shirt, sighs. "All right, look, I know you're probably about dead on your feet, so I'll just go ahead. I'll catch Bruce and Tasha up later."

"No need," Bruce says from the doorway. Like everybody else, he's a mess of welts and bruises. But there's something else, too, Tony notices, something odd in frown-shadowed eyes, something in the way he avoids eye contact as he shuffles over to stand near Tony. "Sorry we're late," he adds. "The, um, the other guy was being a little stubborn."

Tasha sidles past him and joins Clint by the refrigerator, her her head down and her hands tight at her sides. There is a large, ugly bruise forming on one side of her neck that becomes very visible as she leans back on the fridge. Like Bruce, she avoids eye contact.

Clint notices it, too. His expression darkens, a frown carving deep grooves in his forehead. He opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it again when Tasha shakes her head at him.

Steve gives Bruce a measured look. Finally, though, he looks away and says, "All right, um, all I really wanted to say was that Director Fury wants to help out with the cleanup effort. Basically, he said, 'I'm getting tired of cleaning up after you guys.' He might have put it a little more colorfully, but you get the point." His smile then is weak, weary. One hand creeps up to rub at a welt on his jaw. "Anyway, I'd like us all to head back tomorrow. Maybe not all of us at once, but I'm definitely going in the morning. So..."

"I must return to Asgard in the morning," Thor says. "I have a few duties I must attend to. Also, I wish to discuss this Mephisto with my father. I will return the following day to aid you."

"We'll go," Tasha says quietly, indicating herself and Clint, who, for once, doesn't argue. He's too busy sneaking looks at Tasha's neck and glowering over at Bruce.

Bruce keeps on staring at the floor. "I'll go, too," he says quietly.

"You sure?" Steve asks, and he does a bad job keeping the wariness out of his voice: _You sure you've got everything under control?_

Bruce's mouth tightens, and Tony feels an inexplicable urge to deck Steve for that, even if Steve's maybe right to ask. But then Bruce just smiles this painful-looking smile, meets Steve's guilty-as-hell gaze head-on, and says, "Yeah, I want to. We helped make the mess. We need to clean it up."

Rather than let silence fall and let the situation become any more strained, Tony steps in and says, "I'll have to meet you guys there. I still have a few i's to dot and t's to cross with the day job. Some phone calls to make. But I'll be there." He glances at Steve. "So was that it?"

"No, there's one other thing. Just so we're clear, if Loki shows up again, we still need to try to grab him. I mean, I know he was helping us today, but-"

"He's still public enemy number one," Tony says, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, the whole stealing the prisoner thing kinda made that real clear." He catches both Steve and Thor giving him sideways looks. "Hey, nobody's flying Team Reindeer's colors here, guys. He shows up again, he's done."

He means that.

It seems to reassure Steve, at least. Thor's still doing his stormy-eyed, frowny-faced thing, but Tony figures Thor's issues have more to do with his whole complicated, fucked-up, quasi-Shakespearean family dynamic than with anything that happened today, so he lets it slide.

And Steve says, "Okay. All right. That's it, then. Good night everybody. And, uh, good work out there."

"Go team," Clint mutters. He shoots Bruce a _dark_ look as he and Tasha walk past him. Bruce shuffles out behind them, head down, back hunched. Steve, guilt-faced all over again, jogs over to him and drops a hand on his shoulder, leaning over to say something as they disappear around the corner.

Tony spares Thor a quick glance. "Have a safe trip home, big guy," he says. "Guess we'll see you when you get back."

"Yes." Blue eyes find him, and it's like looking into a rolling sea. "At his own trial, Loki refused to speak. He did not speak a single word to me, or our parents, during his confinement. And yet, he has not only sought out and spoken to you, but has chosen to fight alongside you. You, who are as much an enemy to him as I am. It is strange."

"Yeah, I don't know," Tony says, shrugging, uncomfortable. "Maybe he was trying to piss you guys off. You wanted an explanation for what he did, right? So he didn't give you one." He's thinking of himself when he says this, at twelve, refusing to explain how or why he'd managed to blow out the engine of his old man's favorite old car. Sounds reasonable. "And me, well, I just happened to be the one there when he showed up last time. I saw what he did. But it could have been any of us."

Which is mostly true, and, actually sort of amusing – although he can't imagine Loki would quite dare to pull the same crap on somebody like Hulk or, god forbid, his own brother. Might on Tasha or, hell, even Clint, just for the sheer fun of it. Definitely would on Steve, just because the whole blushing virgin thing would be hilarious.

So, yeah, that's funny and, now that he thinks about it, it's kind of comforting: he didn't get singled out for any particular reason. Which means it's not actually _about_ anything.

It's just a case of bad timing, and nothing more.

"Still," Thor rumbles. "I hoped this was a sign things would change." Before Tony can answer, though, Thor chuckles and shakes his head. "He would tell me I'm being foolish. I am, aren't I?"

"Probably," Tony says. "But, hey, there's nothing wrong with having a little hope. Who knows?" He pushes away from the counter. "Anyway. I gotta go. So. Yeah. Good night."

He leaves Thor standing alone in the kitchen.

xXx

When touches down on his Tower balcony, the first thing he notices is that there's a light on in his living room.

"You have a guest, sir," JARVIS informs him, as mechanized fingers begin stripping away the battered Iron Man armor. "Miss Potts."

Tony's stomach drops, a jolt-fast downward slam, and just that quick his heart starts thumping like he's in the middle of a marathon run. "...Pepper?"

And _good God_, he does not need this tonight, not just off the battlefield, not when he's so exhausted a bunny rabbit could probably kick his ass.

"Yes, sir," is the bland reply. "She has been awaiting your arrival for three hours."

"Three _hours? _Well, gee, thanks for letting me she was here. And why the hell did you let her up into the penthouse? Ouch!" He glares at down at his leg, where one of the little fingers had poked his leg instead of the armor's release point.

"She asked me not to disturb you, sir," JARVIS says. "She was able to get in using her old access codes. You must have forgotten to disable them."

"Oh." Forgot. Right. The last of his armor now gone, Tony turns to head into the penthouse. "Pepper," he says. "Uh. Hi. What – ah, it's good to see you. What are you doing here?"

Pepper rises smoothly from where she'd been waiting on the couch. She's dressed simply in a dark blouse and matching skirt, hair pulled back, and he thinks with a pang as she rises and walks over to meet him that she looks just as lovely as ever.

"Hi, Tony," she says, smiling. "I – you never called me back. And I was worried, so I thought I'd come by. But you weren't here. I was going to leave, but JARVIS said you were only your way back."

"So you stayed," he says with no inflection whatsoever.

She nods. "I heard about what happened. Today, I mean. And yesterday. Dallas called me. He was – I think he was in over his head. Didn't know what he was supposed to do. He asked if I'd call."

"Huh." He moves past her and heads for the bar. "I'm going to get a drink. Want one?"

"No," she says. "I'm fine. I won't stay long. I just – wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I am," he tells her. He walks behind the bar and proceeds to pour himself a glass of scotch. "I'm fine. You look great. How are you?"

"Thanks. I'm – okay. Good, actually."

"Yeah? Still working for that...? What was it?" He remembers it has something to do with money, and that she's running the place, but for the life of him he can't come up with the name.

"Hamilton Financial," she supplies. "And yes, I am. It's a good job."

He finishes off the scotch in a gulp. It doesn't do much to untie the knots in his stomach, but he's at least able to nod and look her in the eye and maybe even mean it when he says, "That's good. I'm glad." He clears his throat. "Hey, so, listen. Maybe we can do lunch or something one of these days. Get caught up. Just – right now, I'm pretty beat, so..."

_So go. Go, before I say something we'll both regret._

Like 'Where were you when I needed you?'

Like 'I miss you.'

Like 'Don't go.'

Like 'Don't ever come back.'

Because they've already had their big goodbye, and this right now feels a little like a salt bath on a wound that hasn't healed anywhere near as much as he thought it had.

And Pepper – who he's always suspected is a little psychic – just nods and smiles a sad little smile. "You look tired," she says. "I guess I'll let you get some rest. But before I go, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"The girl. The one you paid off. Did you know she was seventeen?"

She's not quite looking at him when she asks him this, and her arms are crossed like she's cold, like maybe she doesn't want to hear the answer.

Tony, a hold knot in his chest, finds himself tempted to say, 'Yes, I did,' just to see her flinch.

But what he says instead is, "Does it matter? Seventeen, eighteen, twenty-two. I was set up. I was never in any hotel room with that girl." Pepper looks up at this, frowning, and Tony shrugs. "They staged the whole thing. They found some guy who looked like me and they stuck a flashlight or something under his shirt. Thing is, I can't prove I wasn't there. Which, admittedly, it's a moot point now anyway, so I don't even know why I'm talking about it. She's been paid, everything's been sealed away, and in six months I can go back to work."

Pepper's just staring at him, forehead creased. There's a little vertical line between her eyes, a concentration line, and Tony almost smiles at that sight: it's one of those little things he didn't even realize he missed about her.

Still, he can read her look. "You don't believe me, either," he says. "It's okay. Nobody does. I mean, it doesn't matter that you never saw my face on the surveillance tape or her videos, or heard my voice, or that the hotel room was paid for in cash by a 'T. Stark.' They had a guy with dark hair and sunglasses, and a flashlight with something round under the guy's tee shirt. You can't argue with that."

Bitter. So bitter he can taste it, like battery acid in the back of his throat. But he can't help it: as tired as he is of thinking about it, of talking about it, it just needs to come out.

Pepper blinks, a kid coming out of a deep sleep. "What? No. I was trying to figure out – since when do you make your own hotel reservations? And why would you pay cash? The Four Seasons isn't exactly cheap, not that I've checked lately, but still, even if you did make your own reservations, you'd use a credit card. You _always_ use a credit card. But you don't _do _hotel rooms in the city. You can't give them the whole 'Tony Stark Experience' without a trip up to your penthouse.

"And when you add that in to everything else... How could they think you're actually guilty?"

It's not often Tony Stark can be rendered speechless, but at that particular moment in time, he is.

Overwhelmed, really.

Just completely thrown-for-a-loop _dumbfounded_ and grateful and, Jesus, his whole body is practically ready to sag with relief.

Pepper seems to understand. Her face softens, all the lines and furrows smoothing away until all that's left is something sympathetic, patient, _kind_. "I never heard any of that," she says. "What you just told me. Did you tell _them_?"

"...yeah."

"They didn't listen, did they?"

Dumbly, he shakes his head. His chest is so tight he can't even fucking _breathe_.

"God," she says. "I'm so sorry."

He clears his throat again. Blinks a few times to clear his eyes. "'S okay. Not your fault. You know me."

"Yeah, I do." She lifts her chin. "I do."

Because she does. Childhood friend, and all, of course she does.

"You know," she says then, "if you'd asked me to stay, I would have."

Frowning at the abrupt subject change, he says, "I know. That's why I didn't."

She looks at him, gaze clear and hard and bright, the sun-flecked surface of a diamond. "You should have," she says. "I wanted you to. In fact-"

"Don't," he cuts her off. He can see where this road is going, and as grateful as he is to her for _understanding_ him, he finds he just doesn't have it in him to head down it. Not when he knows he'll just wind up having to let her go all over again. "You needed to get out more than I needed you here."

"_Bull_shit," she snaps. He feels his eyebrows hitch. It's not everyday she cusses like that, and he's glad there's a bar between them. "Do you really think I would have stood by and let you pay that girl off?"

"No, but it's done, so, I mean, what do you want me to say?"

"I'd come back, you know. If you asked me to. I would. Because you need somebody on your side."

Tony shakes his head, one hand reaching up to massage the back of his neck. The day's aches have begun to seep back into his bones like slow poison. "I'm not going to ask you to come back," he says. "You're – you've got a job, and a life. Boyfriend?"

"Finance." She holds up her left hand. There's a diamond ring on her ring finger, and a sudden touch of red in her cheeks. It's beautiful. "As of a couple weeks ago. He's a – he was one of the candidates I interviewed for your job. Our first date was my last night with the company."

_I hope you understand_, she'd said when she'd turned him down for dinner.

He does now, and it stings.

Suddenly he's not sure there's enough alcohol in the penthouse.

"Congratulations," he says in a flat, funny voice. He looks at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but her.

Because, yeah, that fist-sized knot behind his arc reactor isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Thank you," she says. "Are you...? Are you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah. Yeah, fine." A twitchy smile as he pours himself another drink. "Anyway. That just kind of reinforces my point. You have a life now. You need to live that life. You can't..." He swallows half the drink at a gulp, coughing a bit as it hits his throat funny. "You said you were done. You _were_ done. And that was it."

"I'm not allowed to change my mind?" Her eyes are shining. "I'm not allowed to say I was wrong?"

"Well, you can say you were wrong. That – I'm always okay with that."

She barks a laugh. "Jerk."

"Yeah." He finishes the glass, and reaches for the bottle again, pretending all the while he can't feel her frown. "This will blow over. Eventually. I'll take my little vacation and then I'll get back to work."

"There must be something I can for you," she says. "I could try to find something out about the girl. Maybe there's something there."

"I had Cecil check already," he says. "He couldn't find anything. Hey, you believe me. That means the world to me." It does. It really does. "That's more than pretty much anybody else has done for me. So, thanks. I mean that." He glances over at her, but has to turn away. "Don't look at me like that."

She's teary-eyed again, staring at him like he's the ending to _Old Yeller_ or something equally tragic. "That's not very much," she murmurs.

"Yeah, it is," he says. It is. "So I've got – things going on here for a while. The Avengers. Turns out my little forced vacation from work came at a good time. But I meant what I said about lunch. One of these days."

"Sure." She sniffles. A mascara-dark tear tracks down her cheek. She swipes it away, an inelegant, childish gesture. "You can call me. Anytime. Even if you just need to hear somebody say 'I believe you.' Okay?"

"I will," he says. He doesn't know if he means it or not, but, hey, it's the thought that counts. "Appreciate it."

"I'm going to look into it anyway," she says. "The girl. Just – for my own peace of mind."

"Okay. Sure. Yeah, if you find something, let me know."

"I will." And to his – _immense_ – relief, the tears and sadness have been replaced by his favorite look: stubborn determination.

That's how they leave things, with him kissing her cheek and her walking out of his penthouse like she has some kind of purpose.

He smiles after her, and then, for the second night in a row, he drinks until he passes out.

xXx

He dreams he's falling again.

Nobody catches him.

xXx

One of the last things Tony does the next day, before he heads off to Washington DC to help with clean-up, is to give Norman Osborn a call.

It's a little after one in the afternoon the, and Tony's headache has begun to ebb enough that he's able to think in sentences a little more complicated than 'light too bright' and 'coffee good.' His stomach has settled down, too, after _its_ decision to rebel against him first thing when he woke up.

Still aches all over, though, and, seriously, fuck Loki.

Asshole didn't even have the courtesy to say 'thanks for the lift, Stark.'

He'd slogged through the two stacks of paperwork, listened to every one of his fifty-plus phone messages – mostly from reporters wanting a comment about his leave of absence, which, yeah, fuck them, too – and waded through the pile of mail that had been waiting for him.

Osborn had called twice, but had not left a message.

His secretary connects Tony right away, and it's not even three seconds later when the man himself rasps, "Tony Stark. Thanks for calling."

"Sure," Tony says, settling back in his chair and letting his eyes drift shut. "What can I do for you?"

"Is this line secure?"

"Yeah." Secure enough, anyway, but who the fuck would be listening?

"Good." He can _hear_ that lizard-grin in Osborn's voice. "Your man Wilkes should be getting in touch with you shortly, but I wanted to speak to you myself first. I know this isn't a good time for you, and maybe it's not even you I should be dealing with right now, but... It's bad news."

Tony clenches the phone hard enough to make his hand hurt. "All right," he says through his teeth. "What got leaked and who leaked it?"

And why the _fuck_ is a rival CEO is telling him this?

It's his own goddamn company. How does he not know what's going on inside his own company?

_How the fuck_ does this _happen_?

Osborn says, in his rasping, I've-been-smoking-for-thirty-years voice, "They got your arc reactor plans. A version of them, anyway. Schematics, apparently, along with a few formulas. I don't know how complete it is. What we found is on a flash drive that Wilkes is bringing over to you as we speak. And as far as who from your company was involved, we still don't know. I don't think Wilkes got that far in his investigation. I assume you're going to want to handle it yourself from this point."

"You assume correctly. We'll be launching a full investigation of our own."

_Right the fuck now_, as Fury would say.

Like _yesterday_.

"You can coordinate with ours, if you'd like," Osborn says. "The others – the other companies – are. There are four of them. The more resources we have on this, the better. I'd still like to keep it out of the press, too, if possible. I don't want them – whoever they are – to know we're onto them. They could be anywhere. They could be absolutely anyone."

Tony, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his thighs, massages his temples with his free hand. 'They,' 'them.' _They, they, they..._ "Who the hell are 'they'? Any ideas? Where did you even find the plans? _How_ did you find the plans?"

"They were on a computer that was recovered in a raid. But we don't who the computer belonged to. We have no idea who _they_ are. Like I said, they could be anybody. Russian. American. South American. Iranian. North Korean. They could be part of some terrorist cell. They could just be anti-corporate Americans. We just don't know."

"Surely you have _some_ idea," Tony says.

"We thought we had it narrowed down to a terrorist cell out of the Middle East, but we were wrong," Osborn says. "We're back to square one. That's why we need to keep this quiet. No press."

It sounds fishy as all hell, it really does, but Tony decides to play along. For the time being. "All right," he says. "No press."

"We need to make sure all of our meetings are either in neutral locations or via secure phone line," Osborn goes on, his voice sliding a bit higher. The words have begun to tumble out faster. "I don't want them overhearing us."

"All right," Tony says, and suddenly he's eager to be off the phone. "Well, listen, I have a plane to catch, so I'm going to go. Thanks for the head's up. I will be in touch."

He hangs up without waiting for a response, and as he does, he finds himself feeling like he could use another shower.

_Paranoid nutjob_.

xXx

Cecil shows up about twenty minutes later. He hands Tony a thumb drive that contains the fifth revision of the large reactor prototype, with all the schematics and materials lists necessary to manufacture one.

Stark Industries is up to the eighth revision right now, but every revision after the second produced a functional prototype. It's expensive to make – prohibitively so – but he learned a long time ago never to count out human ingenuity.

Because he's walking proof of the ways it works.

He tells Cecil to start the investigation, but to keep it quiet – from everyone, including everybody on the board.

He also tells Cecil to start digging into what Osborn's not telling them.

The big man, looking every bit as pissed as Tony feels, nods and heads out.

xXx

His business sewn up in New York, Tony heads out to DC to help clean up the beleaguered city.

The team ends up spending most of the next three days down there, working in twos or threes for sixteen hours at a time to help search for survivors, clear out bodies (there are hundreds), haul away pieces of broken buildings – anything and everything to get the city back on its feet again.

It's grueling, difficult work, and Tony's glad because it keeps the team busy, and it doesn't him leave him much time to dwell.

Turns out he's really fucking _tired _of that.

xXx

When at last the Avengers' work in Washington is finished, they all head back to New York.

Tony hops out of the of quinjet and flies himself to the Tower, pointedly ignoring Steve's request to have some kind of "team activity night."

Steve literally says "team activity night," so Tony feels no guilt whatsoever about taking off.

Because there's lame and then there's the kind of lame that you just want to pretend like you never _heard_.

Besides which, after past couple weeks' the hustle and bustle, a quiet penthouse with a well-stocked bar sounds like just the ticket.

And he's just getting around to pouring himself that drink when JARVIS says, "Intruder detected on the balcony, sir."

It's like the universe just _knows_.

"Turn on the lights, JARVIS," Tony says, squinting into the dark beyond his windows. He's pretty sure he already knows who's out there – who else could just appear on his balcony? – but he decides to err on the side of caution.

And sure enough.

"Loki," he mutters.

Not only does the universe just _know_, it appears to just hate him right now, too.

Because there is Loki, an indolent figure lounging against the railing behind him, clad in all black, green eyes bright and intent on Tony's face: a predator observing his prey.

Tony's spine tightens.

"Shall I alert the other Avengers, sir?" JARVIS asks.

"Not yet," Tony says without breaking eye contact. He reaches for his wrist straps. "Let me see what he wants, first." Not that he's cutting Loki any slack here, but he finds he's actually curious as to how this will play out given the way their last couple of encounters have gone.

Just the same, he says, "But get the suit ready."

Because with Loki there's always a chance that he's going to wind up being thrown out a window.

"All right," he finally mutters, half to himself and half to JARVIS. "Let's do it."

And with that, he steps out on the balcony to greet his visitor.

xXx

_I am nothing of a builder  
But here I dreamt I was an architect  
And I built this balustrade  
To keep you home, to keep you safe  
From the outside world  
But the angles and the corners  
Even though my work is unparalleled  
They never seemed to meet  
This structure fell about our feet_

-The Decemberists, "Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect"

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	9. Put me on a ship that is sinking

8. "**Put me on a ship that is sinking, on a voyage to an untamed land. Take away the freedom I wanted. I understand."**

In the golden throne room of Asgard, Thor stands quietly at the foot of the stairs, helmet tucked under one arm, cloak thrown back, eyes trained to the throne itself and on the figure sitting there.

His father, having just heard the tale of the Avengers' battle with Mephisto, is frowning off into the distance, blue eye clouded by a dark frown.

"You say Loki disappeared with him," Odin says at last.

"Yes, Father," Thor replies. "To where and for what reason, I do not know. I have not seen him since."

"Troubling," his father murmurs, one hand stroking his whiskers. "Mephisto is a soul-stealer. He is the embodiment of evil. He rules over a realm of torment and despair, darkness and ruin. His magic is powerful, and if he is with Loki..."

"I do not think he is _with_ Loki," Thor feels compelled to point out. "It appeared Loki was attempting to stop him."

"It is possible he only wanted you to believe that," his father says, in tones of gentle chastisement. As if the thought as not occurred to Thor. "It is unwise to assume you know what goes through his mind."

As much as Thor would like to deny it, he finds he can't. His brother's mind has become closed to him, a maze so complicated and confusing that it is impossible to navigate. "Yes, Father." He shifts, lifts his chin to look at Odin more fully. "I must return to Midgard as soon as possible. I told the warriors I aligned myself with that I would bring them what information I could about Mephisto. They are aiding me in my search for Loki."

"They do not appear to be much help." A frown carves familiar grooves into the weathered planes of Odin's face. "I have need of you here, Thor. You have been neglecting your duties to Asgard."

"I have duties on Midgard as well, Father. You set them for me yourself."

"You concern yourself far too much with Midgardian trivialities," Odin snaps.

"Midgardian trivialities," Thor repeats, jaw clenching. "Protecting mortals from whatever Loki is planning to inflict on them next is trivial? Capturing Loki _as you asked me to_ is trivial? Protecting the Nine Realms from the threat this creature Mephisto posed is trivial?"

"Enough," Odin says in a voice that rings like a hammer on an anvil. "I am speaking of your dalliance with the woman."

Jane. Thor blinks up at his father. "What has she to do with anything, Father? I have not seen her." He has spoken to her but once, and that through a machine. "Surely Heimdall has told you this. I assure you, I have been doing my utmost to find Loki. He has simply hidden himself well. I have only seen him once, and at that time he was repairing the tears that Mephisto created. He was working with us."

His father's brilliant eye narrows. "He knew the price of inaction."

"But he did not try to harm any of us as he has in the past," Thor points out. "Save disappearing with Mephisto, he has done nothing since his escape. Nothing _yet_," he amends. He shifts his helmet to his other arm. "He is most likely biding his time."

"You must find him quickly, my son, and return to your people. To your duties as the protector of _all _of the Nine Realms – especially in the face of the coming darkness. To your duties as a future king. And to find yourself a wife worthy of the future king of Asgard."

_...ah_.

"Jane is worthy," Thor says. On this, he will not be dissuaded. "If not for her, Father, I would not be here now. She is fair and generous of heart and noble of spirit. She is strong-minded and strong-willed." Not that he has given any serious consideration to wedding her, not when he has spent so little time with her, but he does not doubt, not for a moment, she would make a worthy queen.

He has his doubts, however, that he could lure her away from her science, to which she appears to have given her heart and soul.

He says nothing of this; he simply folds his arms across his chest and looks at his father – not in challenge, but not backing down.

"She is mortal," Odin says.

"That does not mean she is unworthy."

"Perhaps," Odin says with a dismissive wave. "When the time is right, we shall see. For now, your duties here grow more pressing. Find your brother and return him."

"So you can contain him."

"Yes. For his sake and ours." Odin's face is grim and gray and weathered, but still full of ancient power. "There is darkness coming to us. I fear your brother is at the center of it. That is why he must be here."

"Of what darkness do you speak?" Thor had not missed his father's emphasis on the word before; he had merely gotten distracted by thoughts of Jane. An unwise thing to do, but his father _had_ brought her up. For whatever reason.

"War. Destruction. Death. For us. For all the realms. Your mother has been dreaming of these things nightly since she visited Loki in his cell."

"I dream of war all the time, Father," Thor scoffs. He slips his helmet on. "Battles, hunts." _Jane_. "I dream of what _was _– not of what will be."

Odin rises and descends the stairs. "These are no mere dreams. They are far more potent, and they never change. Dreams – real dreams – are never the same. Your mother's dreams are exactly the same. Dark times are ahead for us. We must prepare ourselves." He places a hand on Thor's shoulder. "_You_ must prepare, for it is on you the burden of leadership will fall."

"I will, Father," Thor says. He finds himself unsure of what his father means by 'prepare,' but decides not to ask. In truth, he is not certain he believes in his mother's so-called dreams, but neither is he willing to risk angering his father further. "I will bring Loki to you."

His father smiles his grim smile. "Good. Then let us go see your lady mother before you depart."

Odin turns to leave the throne room.

Thor follows, trouble heavy in his every step.

xXx

Tony opens the balcony door and leans sideways against the door frame, squinting to see his visitor in the near-dark. "You know," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I don't know how you do things where you're from, but here it's considered pretty rude to just show up at somebody's house without calling."

Loki, who's dressed casually in black slacks, a dark shirt, and a black jacket, smiles benignly from where he's lounging back against the railing. "Well," he says, "I would have called, but it seems I've misplaced your number."

Unlike Thor, Loki appears to have no trouble whatsoever picking up English vernacular, and Tony supposes he's not really surprised. Words are Loki's thing. They're definitely not Thor's.

"I could give it to you," Tony says with a careless shrug, "since you seem to be making a habit of showing up where I am. And how the hell do you keep _doing_ that, by the way? It's a little creepy."

"Magic."

Tony frowns, tilts his head. "Like a spell or something? Do you do even _do_ those?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose, but not precisely. It's more that I manipulate magical energy. I bend it to suit my purposes. I can also, as in your case, leave a small fragment behind that I can later use to locate something. Harmless, I should add. It does nothing but exist."

"Okay, you left a fragment of magic in me." Like some kind of fucking magical GPS locator. Tony's hands ball up, and it's all he can do not to start swinging right there. Because for fuck's sake that's _way _more than a little creepy. "Why the hell did you do that?" He shakes his head. "You know what? I don't even care why. Get it out. _Now_. Or so help me, I am calling everybody over here."

Loki examines his fingernails. "Please do, Stark," he says. There's a goddamn smile in his voice. "I'd love to hear you try to explain why they should _keep_ you on the team once they find out that you've been... What's the term? Compromised? That you've been compromised by having my magic in you. That would be highly entertaining."

"_Loki!_"

"Would you care to know why I put it there?"

"No." _Fuck_. "Yes. Why?"

"I did so during our first encounter with those mechanical creatures to keep you from being pulled into the tear. It was a means of protection. It wasn't actually designed as a means to find you. That just happened to be a convenient consequence." Dark eyebrows arch over eyes that are alight with wicked amusement. "You shouldn't flatter yourself to think I would actually stalk you, Stark. You're _fun_, but I do have better things to do with my time."

"Oh, really? Huh. I find that hard to believe, considering you're on my balcony."

"Believe what you wish."

"Get the fucking magic out of me right now."

"I intend to." He inclines his head and says, still unfailingly polite, "Perhaps we could continue this inside? I do have a reason for this visit, and I assure you that I mean you no harm. And, yes, I know," he adds, making a vague gesture with one pale hand, "god of mischief and lies, you can't take my word for it, and so on and so on. If it's all the same to you, I'm rather bored with that dance, so I'd like to skip it and go straight to the one where we're having an actual conversation. Perhaps we could even be sitting down and, if you wish, having a drink. After we have concluded our conversation, I will remove the magic and be on my way."

Yeah, Tony can see where Loki had gotten the nickname 'Silvertongue,' because that was_ smooth_. Like dark silk smooth, all courtly charm and quiet sincerity. Hard not to be swayed by it. "Fine, but you're gonna talk to me about Mephisto, too."

"I certainly will, if you wish."

"I do. Come on." Tony pushes away from the door frame and backs into the penthouse, never once looking away as his guest follows. Loki closes the door behind him and pauses just inside.

Tony says, "Okay, two things before this goes any further. One: don't touch me. One-point-five: don't touch me means _no throwing me out the window_. One-point-five-five: in fact, just sit down over there." He points at an armchair. "Two: drink?"

Loki appears to take no offense to that. Just the opposite, actually: he laughs quietly and walks over to the chair Tony had indicated. It's the amused, not-sharp kind of laugh, and for reasons Tony is _so_ not going to poke at, the sound of it kind of bothers him.

Like he'd almost rather hear the cutting crazy laugh. He knows what to do with that.

This? Not so much.

Loki is all smooth, feline grace, lean and elegant, as he sits, settles back, and crosses his legs. Says, green eyes still flickering with amusement, "Yes, thank you."

"Okay." Tony wanders over to the bar. "Any preferences? I have pretty much everything."

"Whatever you're having is fine," Loki replies.

Tony grabs a couple of glasses and pours a generous amount of scotch into each. Thinking it's probably going to be _that_ kind of night, he carries both glasses and the bottle with him back across the room. He sets his own drink and the bottle down on the coffee table, and then shuffles over to the armchair.

Loki plucks the glass out of Tony's hand with a murmur of thanks, long fingers moving deftly – and pointedly, Tony thinks – to avoid any contact.

Tony retreats to the couch and sits down, his movements stiff and creaky. It has been a long fucking few weeks, and he's feeling it all over the place, aches on top of aches and dragging fatigue like his bones are made of solid concrete. Sighing, he scrubs a hand over his face. "All right," he finally says. "Why are you here?"

"Believe it or not, I am here to thank you."

"To-? _What_?" Because if Tony had made a list of every possible thing that Loki could have said, that one wouldn't have made it. "Thank me for _what_?"

Loki's smile is slow, languid: an indulgent teacher smiling at a slow student. "For your help in apprehending Mephisto, of course," he says, "and in closing the tears. I could have done neither without you."

"You're damn right you couldn't have," Tony mutters. There's no answer to that beyond an arched eyebrow, and he shifts in his seat.

Okay, maybe that was a little rude.

A little.

He shakes his head. "You're serious."

"I'm not a _heathen_, Stark." Loki says. "Disowned though I may be now, I _was_ raised as a prince. I had manners and proper etiquette trained into me from the time I was old enough to walk – manners which now lead me to you. To, as I said, thank you for going out of your way to 'give me a lift'."

"Giv-" Tony stops, telling himself it's a better way to put it than 'letting me ride you.' _Much _better. "Um. Okay. Right, well. Then you're welcome?" _I guess?_ "Glad I could help. Do – am I required to thank you?" Because it kind of seems like maybe he should, kind of, but – maybe not. Maybe the whole stealing Mephisto thing negated that...?

Who knew just saying thank you could be so complicated?

_How is this my life, again?_

That odd quickflash again in Loki's eyes, a flicker of something just under the surface, there and gone too fast to be identifiable. "No," he says. "I only did what I said I would. You went out of your way."

"...oh. Okay. Well. Thank you anyway. For what you did. Except for the part where you took Mephisto. Which – by the way? Not cool. Where'd you take him?"

"He's dead, Stark. Where that happened does not matter."

Tony's eyebrows hitch. "He's dead?"

"You don't seriously believe I'd leave something that dangerous alive, do you?"

"No, but I'm not sure I can seriously believe _you_."

"I am _utterly_ shocked to hear you say that." Loki sips his drink. "Believe or don't. It matters not. You'll not be seeing him again."

"Why'd you take him? Why not let our people handle it?"

"I didn't trust 'your people' to handle him. Given my own experience with their pathetic attempts _at_ containment, I thought it best to handle the matter myself. And thus, the universe is safe once more." An ironic smile, and Loki lifts his glass in mock salute.

Tony huffs a quiet laugh. "You could have just _said_ you were gonna take him." Loki tilts his head to one side, eyes narrowing in something like disbelief. And Tony, recognizing a stupid statement for what it is, waves him off. "Okay, yeah, no. Never mind. We wouldn't have let you take him."

"No, you would not."

"All right. Right, so you take him. You kill him. Now what?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What comes next?"

Loki's frown fades. "Nothing, Stark. The beast is dead. That is the end."

"I meant with _you_, big fella. What's your angle here?"

Mockery in a laugh that sounds like the edge of a razor blade, sharp and ready to slice. "Do you honestly expect an answer?"

Tony shakes his head. _That _is more like it. "Just had to ask. I think it's the second bullet point in the Superhero Handbook. 'Always ask the villain what he's up to.'"

Loki sits back and regards Tony over the rim of his glass, expression suddenly inscrutable. "Am I?"

"What?"

"The villain."

"What, do you expect me to tell you _no_?" Tony blinks. "Hate to break it to you, Reindeer Games, but _yes, you are_. All those people you killed? You don't get to wipe the slate clean that easily. I tried to tell you that. I think I even tried to stop you-"

"_Stark_." Loki rolls his eyes theatrically. "That was a 'yes' or 'no' question, not an invitation to lecture."

"Oh. Then_ yes_. And I wasn't lecturing." Because Tony Stark _does not _lecture. Lecturing is what parents do to their children, which – _no_. No, no, oh, _hell no_. "I was just _saying_-"

"Enough!" Loki says, chuckling. "Please, I beg you, do _not_ start talking about holes and monsters again! I only asked because I wanted to be sure you weren't laboring under some misguided notion that my actions changed anything. They didn't. Don't. And, believe me, I am well aware of how much blood has been spilled on that slate. I don't think I _could _wash it clean, even if I tried." He inclines his head, mouth thinning, a pensive frown shading narrowed eyes. "Merchant of Death, you called yourself. Have you wiped _your _slate clean?"

Tony shakes his head. "Not yet."

"You believe you will?"

"Maybe? I don't..." He shakes his head. "No, probably not."

"But you're trying, is that it?"

"I'm doing what I can. The best I can. It's all I can do."

Again, Loki's face changes: eyebrows lift and there's maybe something expectant in his expression, if Tony has to name that tune. "You aren't going to offer me the same advice? Tell me I could if I wanted to? Try to persuade me to repent my wicked ways?"

Tony shakes his head. And holy cow, this is like riding a roller-coaster blindfolded: fast and a little out of control, and just all over the place. One second Loki's smiling and almost normal, the next he's got that batshit crazy thing going, and the next he's got the curious little kid thing going. It's hard to keep up.

He is way too tired for this. "No," he says tersely. "I don't think you could if you wanted to, so why should I waste my breath?"

Loki flinches at that, just a little. "Ah."

"Besides," Tony can't help adding, because he has the advantage and it's kind of stupid not to press it, "you suck enough at being a bad guy that I'm not worried. No matter what you do, you're going to fail."

"You've said that before," Loki says.

"Right before you failed the first time. Or was that the second time? Kind of squibbed your play up in Asgard before that, right?" He grins, hard and mirthless. Giving a little back, and it feels a lot better than it probably should. "So, yeah. Still applies."

"Speaking of _failure_, Stark, I've heard you've been knocked off the top of your little empire. By your own doing, no less. Your own _vices._" Loki's answering grin is malevolent, cold. "Self-sabotage? I would have expected something a little more creative from a man of your intelligence."

And, okay, _ouch. _Tony's hand tightens around his glass."Well, you'd know a thing or a hundred about screwing things up for yourself, wouldn't you? Or are you really stupid enough to think making everything so ridiculously complicated is actually going to work?"

"The difference is, that while there's a chance my plans will fail, it's not because I'm too busy trying to rut with anything that moves. It's because of outside interference. And by the way – was it just my imagination, or did the man I chased away bear a _striking_ resemblance to your Captain America?"

Air hisses between Tony's teeth. "...what?"

"Come, Stark. Large and brawny, a sweet face, big blue eyes. Surely it didn't escape your notice."

"No." Nope. Nuh-uh There was _no way in hell_. "_Yes_, I mean. I never saw that. I wasn't exactly focused on his-" He clenches his jaw shut on the last word, wondering just what the actual _fuck_ he's even _saying_.

_Jesus Christ_. His glass is empty and his hands aren't entirely steady as he pours himself another drink.

Something heated in Loki's eyes now, and the grin has become downright predatory. "Ah," he says. "I suppose that explains how you could miss something so obvious."

"Yeah. Well." Tony gulps down a half of his glass. The mild burn as the alcohol does down gives him something to focus on, something to ground himself on. He finds himself looking at Loki again, trying hard to project anything but his irritation. Because the bastard _is not_ going to get to him. "Are you done? Because if so, it's been a long day and I'm tired."

That quick, Loki's demeanor changes again: from predatory to chagrined in the space of a breath, just like that, just like flipping a switch. "I didn't come here to pick a fight, Stark."

"Then why are you here? Why do you _keep_ showing up wherever I am? Why do you keep...? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Narrow-eyed, calm, considering, like he's calculating the weight of all the atoms in Tony's body. "Like what?"

"Why are you here? Really."

"I told you-"

"You wanted to thank me. Which, hey, I appreciate, but that's not _you_. Not your style."

Loki's mouth quirks into a rueful smile. "No," he says. "It's not, is it? Thor always said I could give kings lessons in royal arrogance. I suppose he's right. I never was able to master graititude." He sets his empty glass down on the table beside him. "In truth, I desired your company."

Tony blinks. Well, _that_ was...not expected. "You did? You did. Okay. Why?"

But Loki shakes his head. "I misspoke." He rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward, and his gaze then is just _scorching. _"What I meant to say was that I desired _you_."

"Me?" An indignant squeak out of a too-tight chest, and Tony's suddenly having trouble breathing.

There is _no question_ what _that_ look means. He knows that look. Fuck, he patented that look years ago, could write a book on its proper application.

This. This is what he gets for asking.

He has to swallow because, yeah, way, _way_ too hot in the penthouse right about now, and his throat is dry as bowl of sand. Heat lighting him up from the middle. Yes, yes, this is the mother of all bad ideas, but _that look_.

It reminds him of biting kisses he's been doing his best to forget.

Green, green eyes full of nothing but want and a smile that says it knows exactly what he's thinking. "Yes," Loki says. "You."

_Oh, you fucker_.

"Oh." Then, because it's obvious his mouth is listening to something _other _than common sense, he says, "You could have just said that at the beginning, you know."

He clamps jaw shut again. Good _god_. He's pretty sure that's not what he meant to say – is _positive_ that's not what he meant to say – but it's out there. Just flat out there, and it actually pisses him off because Loki just looks _smug_, the absolute bastard, and Tony wants to punch that look right off his smug-bastard _face._

"Indeed?" Loki purrs.

"Would've kept you from wasting your time," Tony manages.

If anything, Loki's smile widens, mouth curling up at the corners as if pulled by invisible strings. "Had I known you would react this favorably, I would have."

"No!" Tony protests, and fuck, his voice sounds weird, like his tongue is too thick. "I would've said 'hey, I'm flattered,' because 'Tony Stark: desired by a god' kinda rolls nicely off the tongue, but in the end I would say 'thanks, but no thanks.'"

..._right?_

Loki's smile doesn't waver. "No," he says, "no, I don't believe you would have." That dark-hot look again, like he's a hunter watching his prey walk right into a trap.

"Yeah? _Try me_."

Which, Tony realizes belatedly, sounds an awful lot like a challenge, like he's just thrown down the fucking gauntlet instead of making a threat.

But that's okay. That's fine. It's okay.

Because even if Loki tries something, it doesn't mean anything has to happen.

Because the thing is, that doesn't mean Tony...

...wants it to.

_Does it_?

Yes it does. _Of course _it does. He'd fucking jerked himself off in Loki's hand a week ago, for crying out loud, and they'd had some weird, vaguely inappropriate eye-fucking thing going on in the middle of a goddamn battlefield just a few fucking days ago.

Yes, yes, this is a _thing_.

It's a thing, but just because it's a thing, that doesn't mean it should happen – like _ever_.

But when Loki stands, Tony stands, and somehow they meet in the the middle of the room. Tony means to say something to stop it, he _does_, but Loki does that thing where he takes advantage of Tony's distraction _again_, like he just fucking _knows_, and then there's kissing – hard, biting kissing that will bruise and mark and linger for days – and just about every thought Tony has goes flying right the fuck out of his head.

He does, however, manage to get in _one_ token protest, gasped out between hot-_hard_ kisses: "We shouldn't do this."

"Why not?"

"It's a bad idea."

Loki pulls back enough to meet Tony's gaze with eyes that are lust-glazed and _dark_. Tony can fucking _feel_ Loki's hard-on right against his hip. "Has that ever stopped you?"

Tony swallows. He's pretty fucking hard himself. "No."

"Then shut up."

And he kisses Tony hard enough to drive pretty much any coherent thought straight out the window.

xXx

It's not sex, though, what happens between them.

And Tony would know: he's not exactly _new_ to the whole sex thing, having had it in just about every flavor – and combinations of flavors – imaginable. From gentle to rough, male and female, kinky and vanilla and everything in between, he's basically ticked off every box on his sexual bucket list.

This, however, is not sex.

What happens when they strip down and fall onto his bed is nothing short of all-out war.

Because, okay, yeah, Tony wants to do this – _dammit_ – but he doesn't want to make it _easy_. Doesn't want it to _be_ easy. Doesn't want it to be something he can look back and pretend he actually wanted, actually _liked, _actually asked for.

So he doesn't make it easy.

Neither does Loki.

It's all grabbing and pulling and biting and sucking, frenetic and frantic and _hard_, in some kind of mad power struggle, like they're both fighting for control. Everything is input: pain and pleasure and heat and _oh, fuck right there _and _more_.

_More_.

Loki, with his size and strength, winds up on top – not that Tony really _minds_, he's been fucked a few times before – but Tony fights him anyway, squirming and pushing to get away, even as he's got his tongue stuck halfway down Loki's throat. Doing it not because he's afraid, but because he _can._

Shifting, Loki manages to pin Tony's hip and thighs to the mattress. His hair is a mass of black tangles that fall around his face like some kind of broken dark halo. His eyes are wild, burning with an unholy fire as he stares down. His skin, pale in the harsh glow from Tony's arc reactor, is a mass of scratches and bites.

"I mean to have you," he says.

"No," Tony says. "You're not fucking me. Get that idea the _fuck_ out of your head right now, you hear me? You _are not_ gonna fuck me."

It's maybe twenty-five percent statement of fact, seventy-five percent challenge.

_You want it, come get it_.

And Loki draws back enough for Tony to see the scythe-like curve of a smirk, the spiteful glint in eyes that are almost all pupil. Fingers grip Tony's shoulders hard enough to bruise, and Loki leans over to nip Tony's earlobe hard enough to draw blood. "_Watch me_." A rough-harsh whisper against the shell of his ear; it sends a dark shiver down his spine. "Just watch me."

"_No_. Get off me."

"You can't change the rules midway through the game, Stark. If you didn't want to play, you shouldn't have made the first move." He trails a hand down Tony's hip. The touch slides like fire Tony's raw nerves, and he swallows.

After that, everything just kind of blurs into a wall of sensation, and Tony lets it carry him away.

_Revels_ in it.

Doesn't stop fighting, not for a second, but when he loses – and he does – he's okay with it.

xXx

A couple hours later, there's another battle, and this time, he winds out on top.

And that's okay, too.

xXx

He's drifting off, exhausted and completely fucked-out, a couple hours later when the bed shifts.

Loki's already standing by the time Tony glances over.

"Work to do?" Tony asks through a yawn.

"Yes," Loki says, dragging his shirt on. "I have lingered here long enough."

"What, you got another world domination attempt to get to tonight?" He manages to make the question sound casual.

"Not tonight," Loki says. "However, you will kneel before me one day." The words lack any discernible edge, though, and Tony swears he sees a little smile as Loki pulls his shirt on.

Tony scowls up at the little pool of light his arc reactor throws up onto the ceiling. "This can't happen again, you know."

Loki's hands still in the act of reaching for his trousers. He shoots Tony an unreadable look, a frown creasing his forehead, face mostly hidden in the shadows. He's definitely not smiling. "I don't believe I said anything about wanting it to," he says. "I desired you. I had you. That is the end. Is that not how this works?"

So just a one-night stand, then. A one-and-done that gets whatever the hell that _thing_ was that popped up between them out of their systems.

Tony finds he is completely okay with that. "Yeah," he says, and he can't quite disguise the relief in his voice. "It is."

"Then we needn't discuss it further."

"Nope."

Loki finishes pulling on his pans, and sits down on the edge of the bed to put his shoes back on. "It is a restless world out there tonight," he muses, the words quiet like he's speaking to himself. "I have heard whispers that someone is raising a great army to conquer this planet. There are even whispers that some of your kind have turned against you, apparently in hopes that they'll be granted power and prestige should this army triumph."

Tony sits up, staring hard at the back of Loki's head. "Whispers," he says. "You mean rumors."

"If you prefer. Empty words from ignorant tongues, either way. I have seen no evidence of it. And I am honestly not sure why I mentioned it." He rises abruptly and snags his jacket. He does not look around. "Best you forget I did. Good night, Stark."

Without waiting for reply, he lifts a hand and vanishes.

And Tony's left sitting in a room illuminated only by the arc reactor's harsh, harsh glow and wondering what the _fuck_ just happened.

But before he can get very far in wondering, the whole damn day with all its aches and pains and reminders that he hasn't slept in days sneaks up on him again.

He's already asleep by the time his head touches back down on the pillow.

xXx

Tony awakens to find himself – _thankfully_ – alone.

He spends most of the day down in his lab, hammering out the worst of the dents in his suit and not thinking about anything at all.

That night, though, finished with all his work and alone with nothing to do but think, he sinks down into the bottom of a bottle and stays there for two full days.

It really doesn't help.

xXx

He would have stayed there anyway, had Steve not called.

JARVIS had woken Tony up some ten minutes before that, and Tony had been staring up at the ceiling, head aching, stomach rolling, dry-mouthed and zombie-eyed, as he'd tried to remember just how the fuck he'd managed to make it up to his bed last night.

He's still trying to unravel that little mystery when JARVIS tells him Steve's on the line.

Steve says, words clipped and urgent, "Tony, I need you. Now. Clint and Bruce just got into it. Bruce-"

"Went all 'Hulk Smash'?" Tony guesses, one hand over his eyes.

"He lost it, Tony. He completely lost it. He – Clint's..."

Steve trails off, and Tony's stomach just absolutely drops like a freight elevator plummeting down a shaft after its cables have snapped. Because that tone, Jesus, it's like a funeral dirge. Shoving to his feet, pushing past the motion sickness and headache, he says, "Clint's what, Steve? Talk to me."

"It's bad," Steve says, his voice hushed and shaky. Shaky, Jesus, the Big Blue Boy Scout _never_ gets rattled like this. "He's alive, but he's in a bad way. Tasha's already on her way to the hospital. Hulk, he mangled Clint's arm. Almost tore it clean off before Thor stopped him. And he – he put Thor through the wall before he ran off. Thor's fine. We're about to head out. Central Park."

Tony's already on his way out his bedroom door. "I'll meet you there."

"Hurry."

"Yeah." Tony hangs up the phone, heads into the closet, snapping, "JARVIS, prep the suit." He throws on one of his under suits in record time. He moves fast so he doesn't have to waste time noticing the heaviness in his eyelids, the nausea burning his stomach, and that god awful headache.

Once dressed, he spares a few seconds to pop into the bathroom and grab a few aspirin, which he he tosses down with a couple glasses of water.

His reflection in the bathroom mirror looks like absolute shit – just exactly like he'd woken up on the wrong end of a bender – but he forces that aside and turns to head out.

Three minutes later, he's cruising over Central Park and it's just as bad as he was afraid it was going to be: Thor and Hulk and a uniformed Cap duking it out right near a fucking playground full of little kids and parents. Tony curses under his breath and flies not toward the fight, but toward the pack of adults.

"What are you doing just standing there?" he yells at them. "Get these kids out of here now! _Now_!"

He hovers down put himself between the retreating mob of onlookers – "Hey, wasn't that Iron Man?" "Yeah, what a jerk." "Mommy, why are they fighting?" "I don't know, baby." "I thought they were all on the same side." "So did I. Scary, huh?" – and the fight.

Hulk swings a meaty fist at Cap's head. Cap manages to gets his shield up, and the thud echoes like a bell's toll through the park. The blow drives Cap back on his heels, and Hulk, moving with that ungainly speed, rears back to deliver what's sure to be a crushing blow.

Thor's hammer flies up from out of nowhere and hits Hulk in the back of the neck. Hulk staggers forward, roaring, enraged and mindless. He swipes out a hand to his side, an instinctive-looking, almost casual move, and manages to launch an approaching Thor into a tree hard enough to split the tree's massive trunk.

Thor lands in a heap and doesn't move.

Cap surges up from his crouch, shield up like he's trying to drive it into Hulk's chin. Hulk gets a hand up in time to deflect it, a quick downward move that knocks Cap back to his knees. And Hulk roars and raises both hands overhead again like he's going to bash Cap's head in.

Tony launches straight toward the captain, a reckless, breathless dive that makes his stomach just _roll_. He gets in between Steve and Hulk, and his appearance catches Hulk's attention as the big guy turns to swat at Tony like he's some kind of huge winged insect.

"Keep him distracted, Tony!" Steve calls from the ground. "I have to check on Thor."

"Will do," Tony says.

Because it turns out it's pretty easy. All he has to do is hover nearby, close enough to make himself an enticing target, but far enough away that Hulk can't reach him.

It kind of reminds Tony of being a kid at MIT and some asshole holding his backpack up over his head.

But at least this way, Hulk's not smashing. He's chasing after Tony, jumping at him, his face contorted with his rage and frustration, roaring a roar that sounds even more mindlessly angry than unusual. But Tony has no time to unpack any of that, busy as he is trying not to get caught.

Hulk has a hell of a vertical leap.

"You in there, Bruce?" Tony asks, staring down into those burning eyes. "Come on man. You gotta wake up and _calm down_."

Which, in retrospect, it's probably not a great idea to _yell_ at an out-of-control rage monster, but it's about all Tony has.

Tranquilizer darts, he thinks as he hovers just above a tree, would be handy. They'd have to be Hulk-strength, but – yeah. Definitely better than this crap, buzzing back and forth over Hulk's head like some damn flying monkey.

He flies down a little lower.

Hulk roars again and coils to jump-

-and is knocked out _cold _when Thor's hammer flies into one of his temples. Cap's shield flies into the other at the same time, and Hulk crashes down hard right in the middle of a bunch of trees. The trees snap and splinter like kindling under him.

Right about then, Tony's stomach decides it's had enough.

He flies off a short distance to some slightly secluded bushes, lands, and proceeds to get sick as quickly and quietly as he can.

Which, of course, is neither quickly nor quietly enough.

"Tony?" Steve calls from somewhere behind him. "Hey, you okay?"

Tony spits a couple times to clear his mouth. "Yeah," he calls back, and his voice is rough, watery. "I'm fine."

A few seconds later, Steve's right there, a tall guy in a sterling blue costume. "You...? Are you coming down with a cold or something?"

"No," Tony says shortly.

Which, judging by the sudden disapproving look on his face, Steve figures that one out the second he gets close enough to get a whiff. The alcohol smell is strong and unmistakable.

Thor approaches, tread light and quiet for such a big man. "Tony Stark, are you well?"

"Uh-huh." He moves away from the tree, and he's careful not to look at Steve as he does. "We gotta get the big guy back to the mansion before he wakes up."

"That is what I came to tell you," Thor says. "He has already changed back."

Steve blinks, blows out a shaky sigh. "Oh, good," he said, and his relief is palpable. "I wasn't sure how we were going to be able to get him back to the mansion otherwise."

"I'll fly him back," Tony offers.

"No," Steve says, the word brusque and sharp. "You need to just go back home and dry out."

"Uh, it's my mansion," Tony points out. "I have a room there, too."

Steve's mouth is a line, and his eyes, visible from behind the mask, are narrow. "Are you sure you can even fly? You don't look good."

"I'm fine," Tony insists. Now that his stomach's empty, he pretty much is. "There's a room in one of the basements I've been meaning to introduce him to, anyway. Reinforced concrete walls."

"We're not gonna lock him up, Tony!"

"I think we should. Just in case he wakes up cranky."

Thor nods. "It would be best to have him somewhere less open should he change when he wakes."

"Great," Tony says. "Well, that's settled then." He glances at Steve. Ignores the narrow-eyed thing going on, because he just doesn't have the energy to deal with it. "Look, why don't you two head to the hospital? Check on Clint and Tasha. I'll get Bruce to the mansion and stay with him until you get back."

He's pretty sure the last thing Bruce is going to need when he wakes up is everybody standing over him.

Steve shakes his head. "Forget it. I don't want anybody alone with him. Besides, you don't look like you're in any shape to take care of _yourself_, much less anybody else."

"I'm _fine_. Had a little too much fun last night, that's all." He's defensive, and he finds that infuriating. "I'll keep the suit on. And I'm sticking him in a room that has a foot of concrete on every side. It'll keep him contained for a while."

"No-"

"_Cap_. Tasha and Clint are really going to need you guys right now. And Bruce is going to need quiet more than anything until we get this figured out." Which is just complete bullshit – who's Tony to say what _any_ of them need right now, when he can't even fucking figure it out for himself? – but the last thing Bruce is gonna need is Cap's judgmental fucking attitude when he wakes up.

_Projecting much_?

There's a long pause. Steve's mouth is doing that thin-lined thing again, white around the edges and flat. "All right," he says at last. "Fine. But you call me as soon as he's awake."

Tony nods and lowers his face shield. "I will. Let me know about Clint as soon as you know anything."

"I will," Steve replies. "Guess we'll see you back at the mansion."

"Yeah," Tony says. "Yeah, you will."

xXx

Bruce struggles awake maybe two hours later, shifting and snuffling and soft-groaning his way back to the world of the living.

He's sprawled out on the floor, which is nothing but bare concrete. Tony's seated against the door, a tablet in hand. There's a glass of water and a small bottle of pills near his foot.

"Oh, God," Bruce eventually mutters. He raises his head and looks around the room. "Tony?"

"Hey." Tony, who is feeling a lot clearer and more settled thanks to the quick shower and quicker breakfast he grabbed while Bruce was out, sets his tablet aside. "How's the head?"

"Feels like I got hit by a bus." He blinks a few times. "I didn't, did I?"

"Nope. No bus." He shakes a couple of the pills – just Tylenol for now – and takes them and the water over to Bruce. He helps Bruce sit up against the room's back wall and crouches down in front of him. Bruce's hand isn't quite steady as he downs the Tylenol.

"What do you remember?" Tony asks, once Bruce sets the glass down.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. What happened?"

"Um." Tony clears his throat. "So. About that..."

xXx

_Put me inside flesh that is dying  
__A ghost that wanders without rest  
__Buried by desires and weakness  
__I understand  
_–VAST, "Don't Take Your Love Away"

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	10. In a violence of pretending

9. "**In a violence of pretending, it's hard to know which side you're defending. Still I know you must continue, trying to win a war waged within you."**

Loki has always been, by nature, a patient man.

Reasonably.

Some of his more memorable pranks in his youth required a fair bit of time and set-up to come to full fruition. Everything from the planning to the execution required a good deal of self-discipline so he did not ruin the jest before it had time to come off as intended.

Pranks and jests aside, dealing with Thor's idiocy often required feats of patience that were the equivalent of or even greater than Thor's feats of physical strength.

At this moment, however, as he stands before a glaring Thanos, Loki finds that his self-discipline and patience have all but deserted him.

Something about the abrupt summons, he supposes.

"It does not appear," the mad Titan is growling, "that you have made progress in acquiring the means to create my portal, godling. I am beginning grow weary of waiting. I am beginning to think some _encouragement _is necessary."

"I need no encouragement," Loki retorts without thinking. It isn't that he doesn't recognize the dangerous way in which he had been addressed; it is simply that he does not _care_. "And I am beginning to grow weary of your threats. You'll have your portal when I am ready to create it for you, and not a moment sooner."

And, oh, how he wishes he could revoke those stupid, incautious, impatient words.

Thanos's face twists. Fury in his eyes like a bubbling magma pit, flaring and sparking, hot enough to melt bone and rock and metal.

An unseen hand lifts Loki up by his throat, high enough that his feet no longer contact the floor. The grip is _crushing_. His windpipe buckles, his breath is stoppered, and the sudden pressure behind his eyes is immense. It feels as if his head is going to burst like a piece of overripe fruit in his helmet.

"I have not even _begun_ to threaten you, godling," he hears Thanos snarl, the sound distant over the roaring in his ears. "When I do, you will know."

Loki drops his staff and claws at his throat. His fingers encounter nothing but his own pressed-in, crushed flesh. His vision has begun to gray at the edges, and he can hear the panic gibbering in the back of his mind.

Ignoring both, he closes swollen eyes and forces himself to _focus_.

In his focus is his magic.

He summons it to him and hurls a desperate burst of magical energy toward Thanos: artless, raw energy that catches Thanos square in the chest and throws him backward.

The hideous pressure on Loki's throat disappears, and he crashes to the ground. He lands in an untidy tangle of his cloak and useless limbs, gasping and retching, wide-eyed, a wild drum beating in his head and ears and chest.

Somewhere up ahead, Thanos bellows with the kind of inarticulate rage that brings images of green monsters into Loki's mind's eye. The very air around him seems to tremble as Thanos rises and bears down on him.

Loki, still on his knees, does not flinch. He finds his staff and slams it down in front of him. "_Enough_," he rasps, the word little more than a grinding whisper. It is deeply painful, and he can taste blood in every word. "It was wrong of me to speak so rudely," he manages. "I apologize. Sincerely. I _have _found the means to bring your army to Earth."

Thanos does stop, just out of arm's reach, and glares down with eyes hotter than planets' molten cores. "Found the means," he says in a tone that is both dangerous and quiet.

In an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure in his temples, Loki removes his helmet and sets it on the ground beside him. His skin is already tingling with healing magic, slow energies just beginning to ease the worst of the ache.

"It is on Muspelheim," he eventually hasps. "The means. It is called Wizard's Eye. Powerful enough on its own to create a portal into the furthest corners of the universe."

"Why, then, have you not acquired it?"

"I tried once long ago," Loki tells him. "However, the Eye is under heavy guard, both by a whole host of fire demons and by some sort of magical seal. I was unable to overcome both." Defeated _soundly _when his attempt was discovered is the more apt way to describe it, he supposes, but Thanos does not need to know this. "I require assistance – fighters to keep the fire demons at bay whilst I endeavor to break the magic surrounding the eye."

Muspelheim is a world of fire, pure fire, as far removed from Jotunheim as night from day: bright and flickering and openly ferocious, where Jotunheim is dark and unmoving and full of icy rage.

Thanos considers him for a long moment, gaze like a set of scales, measuring and weighing. "How many fighters?" he eventually asks.

"When last I saw, there were perhaps thirty of these demon guards, all of whom are far larger than you or I. I would need at least a hundred skilled fighters. Can you spare that many?"

"I can spare a _thousand_." Thanos turns to look out at the stars' cold fire. "And that would not be even a small fraction of my army." He does not look around when he adds, "You will have your hundred. I will give them to you out of my own personal guard. These I trained myself."

"I should be honored, then," Loki says. His voice is, thankfully, husky enough to disguise his sarcasm. "I require time to recover and to build up sufficient magical reserve. I shall return in four days' time. Will your soldiers be prepared?"

"They will be waiting," Thanos replies. He turns to take his seat once again. "As will I. You will bring me this Wizard's Eye once you have acquired it. I wish to see it myself."

Loki narrows his eyes at the massive figure before him, wary and doubtful. As much as he wishes to demand an answer to _why_, he does not ask. He has a strong suspicion the question would earn him another demonstration of Thanos's power, and he is still in sufficient pain that he has no real desire to see it again.

He merely bows his head and murmurs, "As you wish. I shall return."

With that, he retrieves his helmet, pushes to his feet, and disappears in a gesture.

Vowing, as he goes, that he will guard his damned tongue next time.

xXx

"What do you remember?" Tony asks once Bruce has set the glass down.

Bruce frowns at the door. "Nothing. Nothing at all. What the hell happened?"

"Um." Tony takes a breath. "So. About that. It-"

His phone buzzes in his hand just then, and he pauses, mid-thought, to glance down at it. The caller ID shows it's Steve. Tony grimaces at Bruce. "I gotta take this," he says, rising. "Hang tight, okay?"

"Sure," Bruce murmurs, eyes slipping shut again. "Not going anywhere."

Guilt's a hand clenching Tony's guts, and he finds himself walking slump-shouldered to the door. The suit's joins whisper-hiss around him, the sound like angry snakes.

He sighs and hits 'connect' button on the phone as the heavy metal door swings shut behind him. "Steve," he says, leaning against the wall across the hall from it. "How's Clint?"

"He's still in surgery," Steve replies. "His shoulder was pretty much completely dislocated. Most of his tendons and stuff got torn clean away. Plus, almost every bone got broken. His hand was basically crushed. Tasha said they're just trying to stabilize the shoulder joint – whatever that means. She also said they told her it'll be a while before they know how bad the damage really is."

"Jesus," Tony mutters sickly.

"Yeah, it's not good." Steve hesitates a beat before asking, "Is – did Bruce wake up?"

"Ah, yeah, he just did. I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet. Says he doesn't remember much. Hey, what the hell _did_ happen, anyway?" It had occurred to him while he'd been waiting that he'd never gotten the full story. "Did Clint just get in his face, or...?"

"I don't know. Thor and I were down in the kitchen. We went running when we heard Hulk start yelling. The crashing. They were in the living room. By that point, he was whipping Clint around by the arm."

Tony winces at the mental image. All he can think of is little kids tearing the wings off of flies. "All right," he says, swallowing. "Well, I'm gonna go."

"Hey, listen, Thor's getting pretty restless. I'm going go ahead and send him back your way. So he can help keep an eye on things. There's really no point in all of us hanging around here, especially since it's probably going to be a few more hours before we know anything."

"Mother hen," Tony says, but it's with a small smile. For all his earlier bravado, he's unsure enough about how things are going to shake out that he'll be glad to have some backup. "Let me when Clint's out of surgery. How it went."

"Will do. Be careful."

"Yeah. And, uh, thanks."

Tony hangs up and heads back into the bare concrete bunker, where he finds that Bruce hasn't moved much beyond pulling his knees to his chest and lowering his chin down on them. Making himself a smaller target, Tony can't help thinking, which is just completely fucked up: Dr. Bruce Banner is no saint, but he deserves better than _this_.

So instead of sitting back down against the door, Tony crosses the room and sits down right next to him, legs out straight, hands loose at his sides, head back against the wall.

Bruce eyes him sideways. "So, are you gonna tell me what the hell happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Tony asks. "The very last thing before you woke up just now."

"Tony-"

"Just humor me, okay? It's important."

Bruce huffs a sigh, cards fingers through graying hair. "Yelling," he says at last. "Clint. He was – upset. About what... About what the other guy did to Tasha the other day. I told him I didn't remember doing it. I don't. I tried to apologize anyway, but he wouldn't...he wasn't... I don't know.

"I could feel the other guy trying wanting to come out," he goes on. "I thought I had a lid on him, but judging by the fact that we're down in this concrete bunker and you're wearing your suit, I'm guessing I didn't."

Bruce tilts his head to look at Tony with dead eyes. "So did I kill him?"

Tony has to swallow a few times before he can answer. One little question, like a fist straight between his eyes, and _Jesus Christ_ what a thing to have to ask. He's done a lot of things he isn't proud of in his lifetime, done plenty of things he's ashamed to admit he's done, but he's never once woken up somewhere and had to ask a question like that. He can't even imagine what that must feel like.

He shakes his head and says, "No. No, you didn't."

Relief like a wave washing across Bruce's face, and he closes his eyes. "Thank God," he says through a sigh. "So tell me, already."

So Tony does.

He spells the entire story out from beginning to end. He doesn't try to censor it. Bruce hates it when people sugarcoat things, so Tony, who's the same way, doesn't bother – just gets the whole thing out there in as fast and forthright a way as he can.

Like ripping off a giant goddamn Band Aid, even though he knows it's gonna go fucking _gusher_ once it's off.

But Bruce really doesn't react much: he gets a little paler, a little gray, and he hugs his knees tighter. He doesn't say a word. That haunted, hollow look doesn't leave his eyes, even as Tony tries to assure him that they all know it was an accident.

Tony eventually runs out of words, so he retreats into silence and lets Bruce work his own way through whatever's going through his head.

Five, maybe ten minutes pass that way. It's not exactly comfortable, sitting on concrete in the Iron Man suit, but Tony makes himself stay still anyway_._ He doesn't let himself _push_.

Bruce, staring at the floor, finally says, "I don't even remember changing. That's the part I don't get. I may not always remember everything the other guy does, but I _always_ remember changing. And I always remember _some_ of what happens. But this – it's like a complete black hole. So's the thing with Natasha."

Tony, who maybe knows a few things about waking up on the wrong side of a few black holes himself, nods. "Um. So. You think something might be wrong? With...? Uh, your other guy?"

"I don't know." A waspish little head-shake. "_My other guy _was pushing a little harder than usual, maybe. _Maybe_. But that could have been because Clint caught me off-guard. I was reading, and Clint came up behind me. Started in on me. I guess I just lost it." He lifts his head, frowning. "So where are we?"

"The mansion. One of the basements. This was the room I wanted to show you. My old man was going to use it as some kind of fallout shelter, except he never got that far. Every wall is over a foot thick. Reinforced. And these two walls-" he indicates the wall they're leaning against and the wall to their left "-are the corner of the house, so there's nothing but dirt on the other side. Maybe it won't stop you...uh, your other guy, I mean, but it might slow him down."

"Would you _stop_?" Bruce snaps. "You don't have to tiptoe. Me, the other guy – same damn difference. I almost killed him."

"Take it easy," Tony murmurs. And, oh, he is _really_ hoping he just imagined that flash of green. "You didn't kill him. And he's probably gonna be fine, so just – seriously. Calm down."

"I almost killed him," Bruce repeats, his voice quiet. Way too quiet. _Seething_. "I lost control and I almost killed him. And I don't even remember it. Do you have any idea how that feels?"

Yeah, definitely not his imagination.

Tony raises his empty hands and says, quietly, "No, no, I don't. I'm sorry, all right? I am. But, in all seriousness, you need to calm down. You're going green on me here."

"_Get out_," Bruce says through his teeth. He's sweating, his face is contorting like he's in serious pain, and his skin has begun to take on that all-too-familiar green cast. "Go. I can't...stop...it..._him_. _Go_."

"Son of a _bitch!_" Tony scrambles to his feet and races to the door, his heart jackhammering in his chest. He fumbles the door open, flings himself out into the hall, and slams the door shut behind him. He slaps the button that activates the locks.

"JARVIS," he says, "has Thor made it back yet?"

"He just arrived, sir."

"Good. Get him down here on the double. We've got a big problem."

Even through those thick, thick walls, he can hear Hulk bellowing, furious and determined.

And the wall between them _shakes_ as a massive fist plows into it.

"Fuck," Tony mutters, backing away. "Oh _fuck_."

xXx

"Man of Iron!" Thor bellows not forty-five seconds later, and it is quite literally music to Tony's ears. "What has happened?"

"I don't know!" Tony calls back. "He just went Hulk on me."

Thor skids around the corner, hammer in hand. "Where is he?"

The wall vibrates again.

Tony points. "Behind door number one, Monty." He ignores Thor's befuddled look. "He's contained for now, but I don't know if that's gonna hold. I'm hoping he'll just keep hitting the wall until he's tired himself out. But we should, uh, get back just in case. Be ready."

They head back around a corner and take up positions on either side of the hallway.

Tony puts his helmet on and lowers the face shield. "Get the captain on the line," he instructs JARVIS. He'd left his cell phone inside the room in his haste to get out. Stupid, but at least he hadn't been stupid enough to leave his helmet in there.

Steve picks up right away, and says only, "I'm on my way," after Tony explains the situation.

And that's right about the point when the situation goes to hell.

Because Hulk stops attacking the concrete walls and starts attacking the metal door.

The door is strong, but after half a dozen Hulk-strength punches, the metal starts to buckle.

After the eighth one, the door starts to warp.

"That's not gonna hold," Tony tells Thor, who's lowered himself into a crouch. "When he gets out, I'll go for the legs. You go for the head. Try to knock him out like you did last time. You ready?"

Thor's normally genial face is all grim lines and tension as he nods. "I do not like this," he says.

"Me neither," Tony says.

The metal door gives with a screech and a _bang _and a roar_, _sounds that boil down the narrow hallway. Heavy footsteps draw closer, the sound pounding and thudding off the walls.

"On three," Tony murmurs to Thor. "One. Two. Three."

As one, the pair of them round the corner – Tony firing a missile at ground level and Thor hurling Mjolnir at what would be head-height to Hulk.

What Tony isn't counting on is Hulk using the door as a kind of shield, but that's exactly what Mean 'n Green does. Thor's hammer slams into the door with a hollow clang. It's enough to drive Hulk back a few steps, but no more than that. Tony's missile bounces off the metal and skitters off down the other end of the hallway.

The explosion sends up a flash of fire and kicks chunks of concrete and dust everywhere, but it doesn't even faze Hulk, who rounds the corner where Tony and Thor are waiting.

Thor stands, hand up to call Mjolnir back to him.

He gets _flattened_ as Hulk just runs straight through him, door first, and then walks right _on_ him. And before Tony can get his own hand up to fire another missile, Hulk swings the door at him and flattens him, too – only against the wall instead of the floor, and oh holy _shit_ that hurts. He's jammed between the wall and the door, with Hulk pressing like he's trying to iron out all the kinks in Tony's spine.

The pressure releases suddenly and Hulk staggers away. Tony has no idea what happens because he's too busy falling on his face, but he hears a couple of thuds and some concrete cracking and a pained bellow. More thuds then, these heavy like footsteps, and the roaring has stopped but the footsteps fall right past him and keep going.

Tony flails a bit before he manages to get his limbs underneath him. Nothing's broken as far as he can tell, but the suit creaks and protests like some of the joints have gotten misaligned, and _wow_, is he getting tired of having to hammer out dents in this thing.

He gets to his feet, muttering, "Ow. Okay, bad idea." Across the way, he sees Thor rising from a pile of concrete chunks and dust. "You all right?"

"Yes," is the clipped reply. Thor picks up his hammer, and boy does he look like he wants to drive it into somebody's skull. "He escaped."

"Yeah, I see that. Come on." Tony spins on his heel and leads the charge to the staircase. "JARVIS, lock down the mansion. Seal it off. We need to keep Hulk contained inside. Or as least slow him down. Where is he?"

"He has exited the stairwell, sir," JARVIS replies. "First floor living area. He appears to be heading for the windows."

Tony, having reached the stairwell, launches straight up. Thor raises Mjolnir and flies up right behind him, the showoff, and the two of them hit the first-floor landing just in time to hear glass shattering and wood splintering and brick crumbling as Hulk bashes through the side of the house.

Tony launches another missile through the opening, hoping somehow it'll trip Hulk up. The explosion throws bits of wood and glass and grass back into the house.

Tony and Thor wait a beat for most of the dust to settle, and then they race through the opening.

Hulk's already hopped the fence and is barreling down the street, swiping cars out of his way like a sulky child knocking over his toys.

"Let's see if we can get him turned around," Tony calls over to Thor, as the pair of them take to the air. "Get him back to the mansion."

Thor nods his understanding.

But turns out to be a lot easier said than done.

The instant they get close to Hulk, he swats at them like they are annoying bugs buzzing around his head. He is all undirected rage, roaring and snarling and lashing out with no recognition whatsoever. It's like there is no Bruce in him _at all_.

Like he literally is some other guy.

Some other really huge, green, and super pissed off guy.

Tony and Thor split off and fly at Hulk from two different directions, coming at him around two buildings and diving at him in near-perfect unison.

Hulk swings his arms up, almost casually, and hits them both with the backs of his hands. Tony careens into a building and has to flail around like a drunken moth to keep himself airborne. Thor fares a little better: he smashed through a window, at least, so he doesn't fall very far, and as soon as he's shaken himself off, he's back it the sky.

And meanwhile, Hulk continues to run roughshod.

They chase him into a tiny park, just an empty little scrub of green grass and a few trees. No people in it, thank God. But for some inexplicable reason Hulk stops.

Well. Not so inexplicable, actually, because he turns and looks right at Thor, who'd made the mistake of flying right up behind him. Hulk slugs him right in the face, and Thor goes flying. The hammer keeps him from getting out of control, but he still winds up a ways away.

Hulk, meanwhile, rips out a park bench and hurls it at Tony, who's hovering just above and to one side of him. Tony dodges it and fires off a missile.

Which Hulk plucks out of the air and throws back at him.

"Not good," Tony says, diving off behind a tree to avoid it. The missile slams into the trunk right in front of him and explodes, shattering the top of the tree and sending wood shrapnel everywhere. Tony has to scramble to get the hell out of the way.

"Cap!" he yells into his 'comm. "Where the hell are you? We need you!"

"I'll be there in ten, Tony. I'm going as fast as I can."

"_Ten_? We're not gonna last _five_. Put your foot in it."

Because it has become very apparent that two of them can't handle Hulk, not when he's like this.

Thor's still trying anyway: from the ground behind a massive tree, Thor hurls Mjolnir up at Hulk's head. Hulk ducks out of the way, the movement almost casual.

The hammer streaks back to Thor, who catches it and launches off the ground in one fluid-looking motion. But instead of flying at Hulk's head, he flies at Hulk's knee, and this time Hulk isn't fast enough to stop him.

Green Guy howls in pain as his leg buckles and Tony uses that moment of distraction to fly up behind him, meaning to ram right into the side of Hulk's head and knock him out.

That's the plan, anyway.

Not a good plan, because Hulk's reflexes a just _that quick_. He flicks out a massive fist and punches Tony away. Tony flies off, spinning wild and out of control, flapping his arms and legs to right himself. Only with judicious use of his repulsors is he able to pull of his tailspin.

He rights himself just in time to see Hulk hurl Thor into a tree hard enough to crack the trunk.

_Deja fucking vu_, he thinks, when Thor lands hard and doesn't move.

Tony takes a breath and zips in, meaning to try another missile.

Makes a huge fucking mistake, though, and gets too close, because suddenly a pair of green hands pluck him right out of the air. Instead of hurling him away, though, those close around his chest and begin to squeeze, and all of a sudden Tony can't even draw enough breath to tell JARVIS to fire, and, wow, what a fucked up way to die.

There is nothing in Hulk's eyes right then that suggests Bruce is even in there. The only thing Tony can see is that other and all his inchoate fury.

And Thor's still down.

And those hands are just fucking squeezing, and he can feel the suit starting to give a little, the metal buckling and twisting and groaning under the strain.

With no warning whatsoever, though, the temperature around them plunges like they've been thrown into the middle of an iced-over lake. Tony's HUD registers a familiar energy signature.

Loki's.

Hulk roars and tosses Tony to the ground. Which is totally okay, as far as Tony's concerned, because, hey, oxygen. In his lungs. Can't beat that. He's pretty much content to lay in his heap and kind of ignore everything else for a while and take some gasping, wheezing breaths, and not even worry that his suit's a little – maybe a lot – mangled.

At some point, he lifts his head and he sees a pair of black-clad legs standing in front of him.

Loki, he realizes again, and man, talk about good timing.

The big guy is blue again. He's holding that glowing cube in his hands, but nothing is really happening. Once or twice, it fires off a stream of solid ice. Then nothing. Then a little more ice. Then nothing. There's a fair bit of ice around Hulk's feet and legs, and he's in a full-voiced rage right there, arms wheeling as he he tries to keep from falling over.

Loki actually _shakes_ the cube – _like that's gonna help_ – and makes the mistake of taking his eyes off Hulk, who manages to tear one of his feet free form the ice.

One meaty green fist shoots out and snags Loki by the throat. Loki drops the cube and his skin goes from frozen blue to just sort of gray-I-can't-fucking-_breathe_-blue.

Tony, reacting on nothing but instinct, scrambles to his knees. "Target his hand," he tells JARVIS. "One round each. Fire."

His munition weapons rise from his shoulders and lock on. There's a single shot and Hulk howls. He flings Loki Tony's way, and Loki – who is wearing no armor whatsoever – lands right on top of Tony. It's an untidy sprawl of limbs, and it takes them a lot longer than it should to untangle themselves.

And Hulk is right fucking _there_.

Tony's fast, but Loki's faster. Somehow, he has the cube again. This time, the ice comes out a little bit more solidly, but still in fits and starts. Hulk backs up, bellowing, hands flailing at the ice assaulting him. Tony remains crouched down right behind Loki, not quite daring to move for fear he'll wreck Loki's concentration. Loki's whole body is shaking with the effort.

Mjolnir comes flying out of nowhere and finally – _finally_ – puts an end to the whole crazy thing when it crash lands right over the back of Hulk's head, just a solid _wham_, and Hulk goes down face-first into the grass. He doesn't move.

Loki waves the cube out of existence, and goes down to his hands and knees , breathing hard. The blue in his skin fades into his more natural human tones, which exposes vivid dark bruises down the entire column of his throat.

"Remain where you are, Thor," he rasps, and when Tony lifts his head he sees Thor standing maybe fifteen feet away, watching them.

Loki makes his way to his feet, slowly, and then turns to offer Tony a hand up. "Are you injured, Stark?"

"I'll live," Tony wheezes as he's hauled vertical. His chest hurts like something stomped on it, like he's been put into a vice a couple of times, but there are no funny hitches or grinds when he tries to breathe. "Nothing broken. What about you?"

Fatigue-dull green eyes study him for a long moment, assessing, before they cut away. "I will heal."

Tony nods and turns Thor's direction. "You okay?"

"I have survived worse," Thor replies. Blood is slow-trickling from a gash in his forehead, he has a few cuts on his hands, and his armor's about as dented as Tony's, but he looks all right otherwise. "Loki-"

"You are not taking me back to Asgard," Loki cuts him off. Whispers, really. "Do not even try me."

Thor raises his chin. "So you are speaking to me now," he says. "Why did you refuse to do so before?"

"For no other reason than to see your faces when I refused to give you the explanation you so desired." he says. "It angered you. That amused me."

Thor's eyes widen and he darts a sharp look Tony's way, who for once manages to exercise a degree of self-control and _not_ say 'I told you so.' Except – yeah, it's kind of scary how well he nailed that one.

All of a sudden, the Big Green Meanie begins to shrink down into something a hell of a lot less green and a hell of a lot more Bruce-shaped. There's a thin trickle of blood oozing down the back of his neck, the sigh of which makes Tony wince.

Green guy does all the bad shit, while Bruce takes all the damage.

What a fucking world.

He toggles his 'comm. "Hey, Cap, we got him. You can, uh, you can stand down."

"Copy," Steve says. "Sorry, Tony. I was almost there."

Probably had to stop and help an old lady cross the street or something, Tony thinks, which might actually be funny except he can completely see it happening. "It's okay," he says. "We'll meet you back at the mansion."

When Tony rejoins _As The Aesir Turn_, Thor is staring at Loki, a cautious frown shading troubled eyes. Loki staring back, wary but calm.

"What are you doing here, Loki?" Thor asks. "What game is this you're playing?"

"I can't just happen to have been in the area?" Loki asks all mock-innocence. Tony snorts, because, yeah _bullshit. _ Loki shoots him an amused glance and a small smile. "There is no game," he tells Thor. "I am playing at nothing. I was in the area. I saw the beast, and I came to investigate. Nothing more to it than that."

"Why were you in the area?"

"Not your concern." He does not look Tony's way whatsoever, but he doesn't have to.

_Fucking stalker._

"But you decided to help us?" Thor says, and he sounds incredulous.

"Actually, I came go cheer the beast on," Loki says with a shrug. "He looked as though he was having a great deal of fun knocking you around. But, unfortunately, he caught me. I had no choice but to preserve my own skin. You don't think I'd help you _willingly_, do you?"

Tony literally bites his tongue to keep from laughing. That wouldn't be good

Watching Loki openly _lie _to Thor like this shouldn't funny, except it kind of is because there's nothing really malicious about it. There's little, if any, mockery in his tone, which, despite the wheezing voice, is relatively light. Tony wouldn't dare call it teasing, but that's not far off. And Thor might not be the brightest crayon in the box, it's pretty obvious from his almost_-_smilethat even he knows he's being played.

"I do not know _what_ to believe of you," he says at last. He steps closer, expression sobering. "What did you do with that Mephisto creature?"

Loki shoots Tony a quick, questioning look. Tony shakes his head, just a quick back-and-forth jerk by way of reply.

Of course he hadn't told any of the others what Loki had said about Mephisto being dead. Why would he, when he'd have to answer _yet more_ questions about why he'd been alone in a room with Loki in the first place?

Raising an eyebrow, the beginnings of a smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth, Loki glances over at Thor. "He's dead, Thor. Never again to trouble you. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"You know I have been ordered to return you to Asgard."

"Yes." All traces of humor vanish, and Loki goes cold, his glare icy and defiant. "I am not going back."

And before Thor can get a word in edgewise, Loki lifts his hand and...

...scowls down at it when nothing happens.

"Problem?" Tony can't help asking.

Loki ignores him. He takes an audible breath, closes his eyes, and, finally, vanishes, leaving a confused Tony and Thor staring at each other over Bruce's still-unconscious form.

"Was that weird?" Tony asks. "That was weird."

"It was strange, yes," Thor admits. "But I sensed no ill intent."

"Yeah, me neither. Huh. How about that."

"Yes," Thor says. A narrow glance Tony's way, eyes shadowed by a frown. "What _I_ find strange is how, once again, he managed to come to your aid when you were in trouble."

Of course Thor would pick up on that.

"Yeah, that is weird," Tony says, frowning. "I don't know what it's all about. But, hey, can't exactly complain. He did kind of save my ass. Of course, I saved his, too, so...yeah. I don't know." There's no way this conversation is going to end any other way than with a giant, awkward thud, so he shrugs and says, "We should get Bruce back to the mansion before Steve comes looking for us."

Because that seems like the thing do to. Getting away from here and not having this conversation, that's the right thing to do.

Thor looks at him for a long time, like he's at a museum staring at one of those weird paintings that was titled something like "Epiphany" and was basically just a canvas painted green. It's pretty clear he's got questions, but, much to Tony's relief, he doesn't ask them. All he does is force a smile as he says, "We should return."

Tony releases a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Yeah," he says. "I'll carry him. Race you."

"That's hardly fair," Thor says. "Even were you not carrying him, you would be no match for me."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"For _you_, perhaps."

Chuckling, Tony bends to scoop the still-unconscious Bruce up. "When everything settles down here," he calls over to Thor, "you're _on_, big guy."

"Shall we wager, then, Man of Iron?" a grinning Thor asks.

"Sure, what the hell?" Tony replies. "What do you have in mind?"

"I will think on it. Some future claim, perhaps."

"Fair enough."

Because just when he thinks his life has gotten just as surreal is it possibly can, he goes and makes a bet with a god.

And why not? Thor's hammer is pretty awesome, but there's really no limit to the ways in which Tony can trick out his suit between now and then. His technology versus Thor's magic.

No way his suit doesn't win.

Chuckling, he kicks off the ground.

Bruce doesn't stir at all on the way back.

xXx

There's a helicopter in the mansion's back yard.

There is a helicopter and what looks like a giant fucking fish tank in the mansion's back yard.

And Steve is standing with Nick fucking Fury right next to the tank.

Tony, his good humor gone, is fuming by the time he touches down. He sets Bruce down on the ground at his feet, and hears, rather than sees, Thor approach behind him.

Steve, back in his khakis and tee shirt , approaches, eyes wide and anxious. "Holy cow! Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah," Tony says, as Thor says, "Yes."

"Guys like you look went through a meat grinder!" Fury says, ambling up behind Steve.

Tony glares at Steve. "What's going on here, Cap?"

"I called in a favor after Hulk went after Clint," Steve says. He doesn't quite manage to look Tony in the eyes. "I just wanted to be ready in case something else happened. And I knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had the means. We don't."

"Yeah? So what is that?" He points at the structure. It's a cube, about eleven feet on each side, made of thick clear material. The walls look like they're fifteen, eighteen inches thick.

"That," Fury says, "is a containment box. For him." He flicks his chin at Bruce. "We built several of them. Figured we'd need them at some point. Consider this one my housewarming gift. That, and _these_." He holds out a small black case to Tony.

Tony takes it and pops it open. There are a half-dozen small vials inside, and a half-dozen syringes. He casts Fury a quick, questioning look. "Please tell me these are sedatives."

"Industrial strength sedatives," Fury affirms. "Quarter of a vial and he shouldn't be able to go green for around twenty-four hours. He'll spend most of it asleep. Watch your doses. No more than one in a forty-eight hour period. Otherwise you'll send him into a coma."

Tony eyes the vials. "What is it?"

"That's classified," Fury says blandly. His eye glitters with secret amusement.

"Have you guys even had a chance to test this out on him?" Tony asks, frowning. "What does it do? How does it work? How do you even know it works?"

Fury shoots him a narrow-eyed, thin look. "We know, Stark, because we tested it on him three months ago. He volunteered."

"I talked him into it, actually," Steve puts in, and he's still pretty sketchy about looking at either Tony or Thor. "He thought it was a good idea, just in case something like this ever happened."

"And why are we just now finding out about this?"

"Well, we haven't needed it until now," Steve points out. "Have we? Look, just be grateful we have anything at all." He glances at Fury, and says, in tones of the earnest Boy Scout he is, "Thank you, Director. I mean that."

"Don't thank me," Fury tells him. "I'm taking his blood. We're gonna start testing it ASAP."

"No," Tony says. "No, you're not."

Steve turns to him. "Tony-"

"No, I said," Tony says over him. "You want to bring us this stuff, fine. That's your choice. Hell, I even appreciate it. Thing is, that doesn't give you _carte blanche _to come in here and start taking whatever you want. We are not property. We don't even work for you. And we damn sure don't need you. If we want your help on this, we'll _ask_. But right now, there's not a thing your people can do that JARVIS can't. We will handle the testing, and we will copy you in on the results. Then we'll go from there."

Saying this, he moves to put himself between Bruce and Fury. To his surprise, and gratitude, Thor stands beside him, massive arms crossed over his chest.

Fury inclines his head. "He _did_ ask for our help," he says, jerking his thumb at Steve. "It ain't free."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't speaking for all of us," Tony says.

"Indeed, he was not," Thor puts in. "You take nothing from Bruce Banner."

That vein in Fury's forehead starts pulsing, and his good eye widens like it's about to pop out of his skull. "_Fine_," he says, teeth baring into a kind of feral grin. It's a little wild, a little scary, and a lot dangerous. "If that's how you want to play this, that's how we'll play it. For now." He glances over at Steve. "Keep me in the loop."

"We will," Steve says.

Fury shoots Tony one last one-eyed glare before he books it on back to his chopper.

As soon as Fury's out of earshot, Steve rounds on Tony and Thor. "What was that?" he asks. "He was offering to help us."

Tony ignores that. "Steve, you need to figure out who you're working for," he says. "Because it's either us – independent of them – or it's them. You can't have it both ways."

"Why not?" Steve asks. He sounds bewildered. "It's not that simple. We need them. We needed them _today_. Their resources."

"You don't think given a little time Bruce and I could have figured something out? You do realize we're two of the smartest guys on the planet, right? And problems like this? Right up our alley." Which, okay, might or might not be true, but that's not even the point. "And while we're on the subject of smart ideas and stupid ones, giving S.H.I.E.L.D. a way to control Bruce? Not exactly your best idea."

"It's not _controlling_ him-"

"You put this shit in a tranquilizer dart, and you can pretty much guarantee you're going to stop him in his tracks. So, if, for example, we caught Fury or S.H.I.E.L.D. doing something they shouldn't be, and we decided to fight them, well, hey, now they have a way to take out one of our biggest weapons. Or, uh, say somebody _in_ S.H.I.E.L.D. gets a wild hair and decides to go rogue, and on their way out the door, they steal that stuff. Say they decide to sell it. Now a bunch of our enemies have it. Things have been stolen from S.H.I.E.L.D. before. Or have you already forgotten the Tesseract?"

Steve closes his mouth and shakes his head. Wipes his hands on his trousers. Breathes out hard. "It was Fury's idea," he says, "not mine."

"But you went along with it. Hell, you just said you talked Bruce into it."

"I – yeah, but I didn't think..."

"You didn't think, what, they'd have some ulterior motive? This is S.H.I.E.L.D. we're talking about. They can't even go for a cup of coffee unless there's some international conspiracy involved. I think it's in their manual." Tony forces himself to unclench his fists. "Look, all I'm saying is you either report to _him_ or you take the reigns on our little team. Because I'm not going to work with you if I can't trust you not to go running to Fury every time we have a problem."

"Even if he might be able to help?"

It's Tony's turn to take a deep breath. "I'm not saying we don't ever work with him," he says. "I'm just saying it should be a team decision. Not just you running off."

"You're one to talk about running off," Steve retorts.

"Hard as it is to believe," Tony says, "we're not talking about me right now. We're talking about you. Us or them, Cap. That's what it comes down to."

Steve's stormy blues shift over to Thor's. Thor has been watching the exchange like a spectator on the sidelines of a tennis match. Now, however, with the focus on him, Thor shifts and says, quietly, "I do not trust this Fury or his S.H.I.E.L.D.," he says. "He reminds me in some small ways of my father: always hiding his purpose, never being forthright with his motivations, never speaking the full truth. And he only has one eye."

Tony exchanges a confused look with Steve, who shakes his head. "Okay," Tony says. "So do you have something against guys with one eye?"

"My father has only one eye."

"...you're kidding me."

"No. He lost it during the battle at Jotunheim."

"Oh. Back to my question. Problem with one-eyed guys?"

Thor shakes his head, chuckling. "I was simply pointing out a strange similarity between the two. The difference is, my father is also a fair and decent king. This Fury appears to be neither, if he was truly prepared to take something from Dr. Banner that Dr. Banner was in no position to deny him. That is the mark of one who has my father's worst qualities and none of his good ones. That is all I was trying to say."

Steve nods slowly. "So you're with _him_." He jerks his thumb at Tony.

"No, my friend." Thor reaches over and claps a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I stand with this team. All of them. Behind you."

"Ditto," Tony says. He can tell by the smile that's trying to work its way out that Steve's starting to sway. "Come on, Cap. We need you. And, look, maybe it won't always be pretty and neat the way it might be with Fury, but we will figure everything out as we go."

This is that grownup thing again. How the _hell_ does this keep happening.

Steve, meanwhile, finally smiles. "Okay," he says. "All right. You're right. I-I'm sorry. Just – it's like I told you, Tony, I didn't have anything to back to after our fight with Loki, and-"

"Don't, Cap. I have a feeling we're gonna have plenty to do. Somebody told me not to long ago, 'It's a restless world out there.' Think it's just getting started."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Bruce."

"Yeah, we're gonna have to talk about that, and anything else you might have kept back. And you need to talk to Fury. But – later. We need to get Bruce in his little 'containment' tank there and get him sedated. But I want to get some blood from him first. After that, I'll have JARVIS take a look at the samples, and then-"

"And then you need to get yourself some shut-eye," Steve says. "You look like you're about ready to fall over on your feet."

"...yeah, there's that," Tony mutters.

"Then I suggest we delay no longer," Thor says. He bends down and picks Bruce up, gentle as a mother with a child, and carries him into the containment pod.

Sighing, Tony follows.

xXx

A little over an hour later, he's back in his tower, working away in the lab. Steve had asked him to stick around the mansion, but Tony, still balled-up from everything that had happened, found he'd wanted to be in his own space.

He's not as tired as he expected to be, and once he'd fed JARVIS both samples of Bruce's blood, plus a sample of the so-called sedative to process, he'd decided to get started on yet another round of suit repairs.

Self-repairing armor, he thinks as he's examining all the dents and scratches in his chest piece, would be probably the best upgrade ever. He works on hammering out a few of the dents, and while his hands are busy, his mind starts ticking over the ways he could incorporate some kind of nanotechnology into his armor to-

"Intruder detected on the balcony, sir," JARVIS interrupts at some point.

Tony looks up, blinking. "Loki?" he guesses, and he finds he is not even a little surprised.

Was, in some way, sort of expecting it.

"Yes, sir," JARVIS replies. "Shall I alert the Avengers?"

"No. In fact, until I tell you otherwise, don't even ask me that. Unless he physically incapacitates me in some way. If he does that, then, yes, alert the Avengers. Otherwise, don't bother."

It's not that he trusts Loki; it's just that he doesn't want to have to explain what the hell Loki's doing at the Tower in the first place. And he damn sure doesn't want to have to endure another one of _those looks_ from Thor. Because, yeah, height of awkward right there.

"Is that wise, sir? He is still listed as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most wanted."

"Not wise at all, JARVIS," Tony says. "And I know he is. Just do what I say, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Glad that's settled." He takes the stairs two at a time until he's at the main level. It's not dark out yet, so he has no trouble seeing Loki through the glass, that unmistakable dark figure outlined against a clear blue sky. Casual clothes, still, and it's almost comforting – like it's Loki's way of saying he's not there to fight.

Inasmuch as anything about this _can_ be comforting, anyway.

He pulls open the balcony door and motions for Loki to come in, thinking, yeah, he should probably do the whole 'why are you here' and 'how can I trust you' and 'don't you dare throw me off the roof' thing, but when he catches sight all the livid bruises on Loki's throat and jaw, he decides not to bother. He doesn't have the energy, and he has a sneaking hunch Loki probably doesn't either.

Loki follows him down into the living room and takes a seat in the chair without waiting for an invitation. Tony heads over to the bar, fills up a couple of glasses with some scotch, and carries them over. He hands Loki one glass and sits down on the couch with the other.

"Thank you," Loki murmurs. His voice is stronger than Tony expected. And Tony's surprise must have shown, because Loki says, "It looks worse than it is. The internal damage has mostly healed. This-" he gestures at his throat "-is merely superficial."

"Healed," Tony says. "You mean you're healing yourself? Like with magic?"

"Yes."

"Huh. I didn't know you could do that."

Loki hedges, shrugs. "I am no healer, but as long as my reserves are relatively strong, I can use magical energy to augment my body's own natural healing process."

Tony nods. "So it just speeds it up. That's handy." Something he wouldn't mind having, that's for sure, since he's nothing but aches and pains.

"It has its uses," Loki says, and his tone is a mite dry. "Of late, particularly."

"Yeah, I bet." Tony sits back and props his feet up on the edges of his coffee table, hands dangling between his knees. "So, ah, thanks for the help today. But speaking of magic, I'm guessing you 'forgot' to take your magical tracker-thingy out of me. Or are you just gonna admit you're stalking me?"

"I was not stalking you," Loki says. "In all honesty, I _did_ forget."

And it's either Tony's imagination, or Loki actually looks a little sheepish: a little smile that's just this side of embarrassed, a lowered head, and a lidded glance.

"My ass," Tony snorts. Because it's either that or let himself get suckered in by that big-eyed look.

_Fucker_.

"I _did_," Loki insists. "Things escalated rather more quickly than I expected, and I was distracted afterward. I forgot. Fortunately," he adds, his expression sobering, "as it turns out. Had I not remembered and come to remove it from you this afternoon, you would likely not be sitting here."

"I know," Tony mutters. He drains almost half his glass at a gulp. It is a horrible waste of such good scotch, his conscience nags him, but he needs it. He really does. Hell of a day. Seems like there's been way too many of those lately. Too many close close calls and near misses.

"I know," he says again, draining the rest of his glass. "I do appreciate the help, though." He clears his throat, rolling the empty glass between his fingers. "So, um. You're here again. Did you – was there something you needed? To talk about," he adds belatedly, wincing.

_That_ won't give him the wrong idea. Jesus.

Loki doesn't smile, though; doesn't even appear to have noticed. He's thousand-yard-staring at the floor in front of him. "I do have something, yes," he says. "The beast."

"Hulk. His name is Hulk."

"Yes, I know."

Loki lapses into silence, and Tony, frowning, finally prompts, "So what about him?"

"Oh. Yes." Loki rouses himself, takes a long sip from his glass, and looks at Tony again. He sounds more like himself when he says, "Something is amiss with the beast."

"Oh, you _think_?"

"_Stark_." Impatient, clipped. "_Something is amiss_ with the beast. What, I cannot say, but I _suggest_ you investigate, if you haven't begun to do so already."

"You can't say, or you don't know?" Tony questions. "There's a difference."

"I cannot say because I do not know," is the brusque reply. Loki draws breath as if to say something else, but lets it out in a quiet sigh. Shakes his head and shoots Tony a short look. "He seemed a completely different animal. How did this escape your attention?"

"It didn't," Tony snaps. "I know something's wrong, and I'm looking into it as we speak. Just – this whole thing literally fell into my lap six hours ago. Kinda spent most of that time trying not to get my head kicked in. So if there's anything else you can add, then do." He lifts his chin. "Maybe you can start with what happened to _you _out there. Your magic."

He's thinking of two things in particular: Loki's apparent difficulties with the cube-thing, and his later difficulties with the disappearing thing.

Loki glances toward the window, lips pursed. "It may not be connected, but something was interfering with my magic." His face is _tight_ as he says this, and he does not look around. "I could feel my magic, but I could not reach it without a great deal of effort. It reacted slowly when I did reach it, and, as you saw, its effects were muted."

"...huh," Tony mutters, blinking.

If he just heard what he thinks he did, if Loki's implying what Tony thinks he's implying...

...then the Avengers' biggest enemy just gave them a way to fight him. Maybe to stop him.

Knowingly.

Provided they can figure out what the hell was interfering with his magic to begin with.

Loki, his jaw still tight, turns back to look at Tony. His eyes are flinty-cold. "You're welcome."

Tony, remembering that was the look on Loki's face when he'd thrown Tony out the window, decides not to even react. Instead, he says, "So maybe I just need to go back to where we were fighting and get some readings. And around the mansion. Maybe it's something in the air. Is your magic reacting normally now?"

Loki holds out a hand, palm up. Stares at it. Begins to frown after a beat. A weak green flame flickers alight over his fingers, bobs and weaves like like a drunken prizefighter, and then winks out of existence. "Hmm," Loki murmurs. "Odd."

"I take it that's a no."

"I had no trouble before I arrived here. Or there."

"Were you in the city?"

"Yes, but nowhere near here."

Tony nods. "JARVIS, run a scan. Here and at the mansion. Look for anything unusual in the air – radiation, chemicals, any kind of foreign substance, anything at all, no matter how trace an amount. While you're at it, check the water supply. I doubt that's the cause, but check it anyway."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS replies, and then adds, apropos of nothing, "This will take some time to complete."

"Uh. Okay. How long?"

"Several hours, sir, at least. You should have sufficient time for another tryst-"

"_Whoa_! Mute!" Tony yelps. "Just do the scan and let me know when it's done!"

And, yeah, wow, what the hell?

In the first place, since when does his AI decide he needs to get laid? And in the second place, just how does his AI decide how long it'll take? And in the third place, why the hell would his AI even point something like that out at all?

It's beyond disturbing.

He really can't help glancing over at Loki, though. It's impossible not to.

Because as alarming as JARVIS's comment had been, it was also kind of funny.

Loki is all clear-eyed amusement, a smile that is decidedly _not_ a smirk, _thank God_, and quirked eyebrows. "Sufficient time for another tryst?" he says. "Your machine knows you well, Stark."

"Yeah, not happening." Tony sits back and crosses his arms. Means it, dammit. One and done. That was it. "You didn't take your tracker off me."

Loki's mouth thins. "As I said, it slipped my mind."

"And so what? You just so happened to remember it this afternoon, right when Hulk was about to crush me to death? Yeah. Bullshit."

"Oh, I got there earlier," Loki admits, his smile reemerging. "I was rather lacking for things to do this afternoon when I remembered that I had yet to remove that magic from you. I arrived in time to see you corner the beast in the field. I simply chose to remain out of sight to avoid my – to avoid Thor."

Tony actually laughs at that. "So you were bored."

"Yes, and it turns out things around you are seldom boring."

"Magnet for trouble, all I can say."

"That you are," Loki says with a surprisingly self-deprecating smile. He sets his glass down and rises. "I'll remove my magic from you now, shall I?"

"Oh. Yeah. That – you should do that."

Loki motions him over. "This will be easier with physical contact, given my current...difficulties."

Tony drops his feet to the floor, stands, and deposits his empty glass on the table. He moves to stand just inside arm's reach. "Not gonna hurt, is it?"

"You should feel nothing." Loki settles a hand on Tony's chest, just to the left of the arc reactor. A bare moment later, Loki withdraws his hand. A tiny golden flame dances on his palm until he curls his fingers loosely around it. When he opens them again, the fire is gone.

"That was it?" Tony asks. "You could find me with just that?"

"I could, yes."

"Huh." He will never admit it, not aloud, but in a very creepy way, that is actually sort of cool.

Definitely better to have it gone. _Definitely_.

Loki, meanwhile, is staring at the arc reactor, the outline of which is visible through Tony's tee shirt. "What does this do?" he asks, one finger tapping the edge.

"Um." Tony backs away and looks at him, considering. Instinct and common sense scream at him not to answer. It's the worst kind of bad idea, stupid beyond all measure. To give Loki that kind of information is to hand him a loaded gun and say 'fire away.'

_But_.

There are _things_.

Like that he's pretty sure Loki has saved his ass more than he has saved Loki's. Like that Loki had just volunteered that his magic is susceptible to being blocked. Like that he has this feeling – call it a hunch – that Loki doesn't actually _want_ to kill him.

Like maybe he can use this to get some more information.

Knowledge. Keys to the universe. That kind of thing.

He grabs his glass, heads back over to the bar, and tops off. Drink in hand, he returns to the couch and sits down, motioning Loki to do the same. Loki, green eyes like one-way mirrors that reflect everything and reveal nothing, retreats to the chair and sits, origami neat.

Tony takes a long drink. The alcohol's burn settles him, steadies his nerves, shores up his courage. His voice is more even than he expects when he says, "I'll tell you what it does if you'll answer a question for me. Just one. Honest answer."

Loki's sudden frown carves grooves in his forehead. "I'll not divulge my plans to you-"

"Wasn't gonna to ask that," Tony says over him. Much as he might like to. "Something else I've been wondering about."

There's a beat of a pause during which Loki studies him again, intent and curious. "Very well," he says at last. "Tell me what that device does, and I will answer your question."

"It's an electromagnet," Tony replies gruffly. "Keeps a bunch of metal fragments from getting into my heart and killing me. Shrapnel from my own weapons." He pulls in a breath. "Why do you turn blue?"

There's not even a flicker of an eyelid. "That is my natural state. When I am magically drained and cannot maintain this glamor, or when I work with magics from the place of my birth, I revert."

"So you're…? Right. Okay. So this is your monster?"

"...yes. How did the metal fragments get into your heart?"

"A man who was like a father to me paid a terrorist group to kill me. He betrayed me. The men blew me up with my own weapons. Do you hate your father more for not telling you or for telling you they were monsters?"

"The former. They aremonsters. The man who betrayed you – did you hate him?"

"Yes. No. It's – complicated. Yes. I did. Why do you hate Thor so much?"

"I don't hate him. I only wanted to be his equal in Odin's eye. I know now that was a vain wish. _That_ is what I resent. That, his interference, and the drivel he spews about us still being brothers. In short, I wish nothing to do with him. Did you kill the man?"

"Yes. Do you want to kill Thor?"

"I do not wish to, but that does not mean I wouldn't. Did killing the man bring you peace?"

"No, but I wasn't trying to kill him. I just wanted to stop him. Do you want to kill _us_?"

"I will if I have to. But only then. Killing is a messy business, and it tends to bring about rather unpleasant consequences. I'd rather avoid it altogether if I can. Why do you not stay with the other Avengers?"

"I'm not a team kinda guy. Need my own space. How the hell do you know I'm not staying there?"

"You are here, they are not. You are part of that so-called team, are you not? Why would you require your own space?"

"Because I think better here than I do with other people around. Less distractions. Do you feel any remorse – at all – for the people you killed?"

"Stuck on killing. Yes, I do. I regret that it had to come to that. I would perhaps choose otherwise if I could. But if given no other choice, I would do it again. Does that surprise you?"

"That you regret doing it? Yes. That you'd do it again? No. Is that the truth?"

"Yes. Do you believe it?"

"I don't know. Maybe. No. Does it matter?"

"No. It changes nothing. Would you believe me if I told you I have no desire to kill you?"

"I shouldn't, but – yeah. Yeah, I believe it. But that's only because you still want me, right?"

"Yes. As you do me, if I'm not mistaken...?"

"I – fuck. Yes, I do. What happened to 'that is the end'?"

"I was only referring to that evening. As I recall, you were the one who said it could not happen again. You wish it to, do you not?"

"No. No, I don't. No."

"You're lying."

"…yeah, I know. Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"You can't answer a question with a question."

"You broke the rules when you lied. You lost. Therefore, the game is over. But, to answer your question, I find the idea of a clandestine affair with one of you Avengers quite amusing, particularly one that occurs right under Thor's idiotic nose. That, and you are one of the few mortals I have encountered who has managed not to bore me to tears. Would it perhaps put your mind at ease to know that I have no immediate plans to put you and yours in any danger?"

"No immediate plans."

"I cannot speak for the long term."

"So what are you saying?"

Loki leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs, gaze intent and heated. "I am _saying_, Stark, that I desire you. You desire me. We are currently at a cessation of hostilities between us. Why not take advantage of that?"

Tony blinks. "What, just like that?"

"While we can, yes."

Tony doesn't answer. The thing he can't get over is how _nuts_ this is. How ridiculous. How just completely off-the-wall crazy. In the middle of everything else that's going on, on top of all this day's bullshit with Bruce and Clint and _everything else_, Loki just shows up and drops this one.

_God_, he can't even begin to count the ways it is a bad idea, how big a hypocrite this makes him, and how fucking _stupid_ he is for even entertaining the idea.

But this, the little game of conversational volleyball with a guy who will probably wind up killing him someday, had felt a hell of a lot better than it should have. Getting all that stuff out there without having to deal with sympathy and without having to _be_ sympathetic, it feels like he's sloughed off a layer of dead skin, shed some dead weight, got rid of some baggage.

He wants it. That's the thing. Bad idea or not, wrong or not, he wants this _thing_ with Loki, however brief and fleeting, if only for the release.

Maybe it's just another temporary, hollow escape, but so what?

He offers Loki a thin smile and says, "They'll probably arrest me for treason if they find out about this."

"Probably. It won't stop you, though."

"No. No, it won't."

"Sufficient time for a tryst indeed," Loki muses. His smile is all want, shot-through with something dark that sears through any resistance Tony may have had.

If it feels a little like giving up when he leads Loki into the bedroom, well, so what?

So what?"

xXx

Rough sex in three-quarter time. Same steps as before.

And it's just right.

Loki leaves after their second round again.

And that's just right, too.

xXx

Tony wakes up late the next morning, body aching and bruised all over – souvenirs from every battle he fought outside this room, and in it.

Feels clear-headed, though, for the first time in ages. Less tired than usual, too.

"JARVIS, what time is it?" he asks, sitting up.

"It is ten oh-four, sir," JARVIS replies.

"Why the hell didn't you wake me up?"

"You were actually sleeping, and as you do that so rarely, and since the scans turned up nothing conclusive, it seemed a better choice to allow you your rest."

Which, okay, is almost touching, in a weird way, but no less annoying. "Scans. Okay. Did you find _anything_?"

"I found instances of several unusual compounds, low levels of radiation, and several chemicals – all of which appear to be out of place. I do not have enough information, however, to narrow it down further, sir."

"What about the blood? Anything turn up?"

"No, sir."

Tony nods. "All right. Download the results to my work in progress file." He tosses the covers aside, climbs out of the bed, and wanders, zombie-like, out to the kitchen. The coffee pot is ready and waiting for him. "Nobody called, did they?"

"Miss Potts called approximately two hours ago. She left an urgent message."

Tony pauses in the act of pouring his coffee. "Okay, new rule: if Pepper calls _ever_, you tell me. I don't care if I'm unconscious or bleeding to death or in the middle of having sex. If she calls, you let me know immediately."

"Understood, sir," JARVIS replies primly. Sounding _wounded_, for Christ's sake, and Tony is never, _ever_ giving a machine this kind of personality again. "Shall I play the message?"

"_Yeah_."

Pepper's voice fills the room. "Hey, Tony, it's Pepper. I really need you to call me. It's important. I found something about the girl. You were right – you were set up, and I think I can prove it. And you are really not going to like this. So call me as soon as you can. We need to get together and talk."

"Oh, _shit_," Tony says, grinning. Because that is _seriously_ the best news he's had in weeks. "Call her back, JARVIS."

As he's standing there waiting for the call to connect, Tony suddenly gets this weird sinking feeling. And somehow, just because it's the way things have been lately, somehow he just _knows_ she isn't going to answer. Something's happened. Something's _wrong_. Because everything – _everything_ – lately has gone so fucking wrong, and-

"Tony?" Pepper's voice comes over the speaker, calm and clear.

Tony has to clutch the edge of the counter to keep from sagging. "Pepper," he says, and he doesn't even try to keep the relief out of his voice. "Hi. How – uh, how are you...?"

"I'm fine, Tony," she says, and he can just picture her giving him that odd little frown. "Is everything okay? You sound..."

"I – yeah," he says. "I'm just glad you answered, is all."

"Why wouldn't I? I've been waiting all morning for you to call me back."

"It has been one hell of a day," Tony admits. He eases down onto the nearest stool, props his elbow on the counter, and lowers his forehead into his free hand. His coffee sloshes as he sets the cup down, and he hisses as the liquid scalds him. "So you said you had news?"

"Yeah," she says. "But it's not the kind I really want to give you over the phone. Are you at the Tower right now?"

"Yeah, but I really need to get back to the mansion. I've got a situation with Hulk that I need to start looking into, like, yesterday. Can you meet me over there instead of here in a couple hours?"

And at some point, he'll have to get over to the hospital to see Clint, too.

Probably should go there first.

"I can," she says. "I'm going to bring Cecil with me, if that's all right. He's got some things he wants to go over with you, too. You didn't tell me somebody stole arc reactor plans."

"Yeah, it didn't even cross my mind," Tony admits. "Just tell me one thing, though: who set me up?"

There's a bit of a pause, then: "Promise me you don't do anything until we have chance to talk to you face-to-face?"

He rolls his eyes. "I won't."

"We think," she says, "that it was your very own COO-turned-acting-CEO."

Thomas Andrews, that skinny, reedy little bastard, and _of course it is_, Tony thinks, because _of fucking course_ somebody in his own goddamn company would fuck him over.

It's the story of his whole fucking _life_.

Fury like a tornado, twisting and racing through him as his fingernails dig into his palms and his knuckles ache and the back of his neck throbs like it's being squeezed in a vice. He's pretty sure he could out-Hulk Hulk, and probably without trying.

Not that he particularly wants to test that theory, but _Jesus Christ_ he's getting tired of not having anybody around he can actually trust.

"Tony?" Pepper prompts. "You still there?"

"Still here," he bites out. "Son of a bitch. I am going to-"

"-do absolutely nothing, just like you promised," she cuts him off in that scary Pepper-is-God voice that has him cringing and covering his balls. Good _God_ he misses her. "And that's not all, by the way," she adds, "but I'll save it for when I see you. Two hours at the mansion?"

"Uh, yeah," he says. "See you there."

"See you," she says, and then she's gone.

"_Fuck,_" he mutters to the empty room. "Fuck _me_."

He climbs back to his feet, coffee forgotten, and heads off to get ready to face the day.

xXx

_Back and forth the titans turn their  
World to ashes, lightning crashes once upon a  
Midnight's turning  
Nightmares march on, dreams still burning  
One by one by one  
–_3_, _"Battle Cry"

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	11. No one knows we're okay

10. **"****The long haul back in no direction, and no one knows we're okay."**

After a brief stop at the hospital to check up on Clint, Tony heads to the mansion.

Clint had been doped into incoherence, a morphine drip blocking out what was probably some monster pain. His entire right arm had been swathed in bandages, so Tony hadn't seen the damage himself. He hadn't needed to: in the tight press of Tasha's lips and the dark smudges under her eyes had been the answer to all the questions he couldn't bring himself to ask.

It was bad.

Bad enough that as he left the hospital, Tony began to mull over an object that sounded like one of those impossible triangles, or an Escher staircase: a bow that could be operated one-handed.

Probably be easier just to shove a gun in Clint's hand, he decided.

He passed Steve on his way out. Steve had the same dark smudges under his eyes as Tasha, and Tony found he couldn't bring himself to ask if Steve had slept.

Couldn't even bring himself to look Steve in the eye, not with the sudden soul-crushing weight of guilt falling down on him.

Because there's selfish and then there's _selfish_, and, wow, yeah, what he'd gotten up to last night while Steve and Tasha held their respective bedside vigils makes him look like a complete dick.

While everybody else had been worrying, he'd been off having – brutal and fucked-up and amazing – sex with Loki. He hadn't thought about them at all. Had, in fact, gotten the best night's sleep he's had in a long time.

A night's sleep that has admittedly left him feeling pretty good, though, and ready to work.

At the mansion, he pops out back to check on Bruce. Finds him still unconscious inside the fishtank.

Thor, slouched back in a chair on the grass, Mjolnir twirling in his fingers, tells Tony that Bruce has not stirred at all.

"You know, JARVIS can keep an eye on him," Tony tells him. "You could go grab something to eat or something if you wanted. He'll let us know if anything changes."

"That is not necessary," Thor replies, his eyes never leaving the pale, white-sheeted figure inside the glass box. "I have eaten, and he should not be alone when he awakes."

"Ah. Yeah," Tony mutters. "Yeah, you're right. Good point. In that case, I'm just gonna get to work. Holler if you need anything."

Because Bruce looks less like a fish in an aquarium and more like a lab rat in a cage, and something about the idea of such a public kind of captivity makes Tony shudder all over. Bad taste in his mouth like the rancid afterburn of a nightmare, and Tony pretends not to see Thor's sudden frown as he turns away and retreats back into the mansion.

The lab is already up and humming when he reaches it, everything alight and alert and awaiting his commands.

"All right, JARVIS," he says. "Let's get to work."

"Where shall we start, sir?"

"Run another set of scans around the mansion and the tower. Give me a breakdown of the radiation you find. That's where we'll start."

If it's affecting Loki's magic and Bruce – if, indeed those two things are related – that seems the most likely reason.

"Yes, sir."

xXx

It's a given that when Tony really gets going on a problem, everything outside the lab becomes meaningless to him: place, people, time, none of it matters. It's white noise, background, static.

Hell, it doesn't even penetrate when, as he's staring down at the breakdown of the radiation signatures, JARVIS says, "Miss Potts and Mr. Wilkes have arrived, sir."

"...uh-huh," Tony murmurs. He's hunched over a computer terminal, chin propped up in his hand, fingers tapping an absent rhythm on the bridge his nose: _one-two-three, one-two-three, alpha-beta-gamma._

The scan showed three kinds of radiation: alpha, beta, and, more alarmingly, gamma. Not in high concentrations, though. Low levels, all across the board, nothing alarming, nothing that should have impacted anybody in the house. But what's odd is that they're all at near-equal levels around both the tower and the mansion, within two rads of each other, when they shouldn't be there at all.

Something's generating them, that much is _no kidding_ obvious.

But.

There'd been a lot of gamma radiation coming off the Tesseract, once upon a time, and as far as Tony can remember, Bruce hadn't had the same kind of full-fledged freakout he'd had on Tony. The Jolly Green Giant had actually seemed like he was kind of under control by the end, there, when they'd been practically standing on top of the Tesseract.

"JARVIS, the blood samples showed his radiation levels _were_ up, right?"

"As I have no reference sample prior to last night, sir, I cannot answer that. However, in the sample you took prior to injecting him, there were trace amounts of both alpha and beta radiation in his blood. In the sample you took following the injection, the alpha and beta radiation fellow below detection thresholds, and there was a two-rad drop in his gamma levels."

"Okay." That's not really helpful. He squints at the readings. "Can you get a fix on where this is coming from?"

"It appears to be a local phenomenon, sir – as if both the tower and the mansion are being bombarded separately. The dispersion patterns around both are relatively uniform."

"Show me the mansion," Tony says.

He hears a banging, distantly, but it's not important. The only important thing is the blue wire-frame model that appears on the table, and the thin green wall – radiation wall – that surrounds the house on every side. It penetrates into the ground by maybe five feet, and-

The banging again.

"Sir," JARVIS says, "shall I let Miss Potts and Mr. Wilkes in?"

"Huh?"

"They are right outside the door. It appears they are endeavoring to get your attention."

"Wh-?" Tony glances around, startled. "Oh. _Oh_. Yeah. Hey, yeah, let them in."

The door's locks disengage with an audible _clunk. _Pepper marches in first, a square-shouldered little soldier in a light skirt and matching top, movements jerky and stiff, footsteps heavy. She has a purse slung over one shoulder and a file folder clutched to her chest. Cecil, more relaxed, pads in behind her, a bald, burly, barrel-chested man in his usual gray slacks and white shirt, a ghost of a man who makes little sound as he walks. He's carrying a scuffed old briefcase with him.

The duo pauses beside the old, scarred wooden table where a six-year-old Tony had assembled his first engine, Pepper glaring and Cecil just looking on like he couldn't care less. He swings his case up onto the table as Pepper slaps her file down.

Tony slides down off his stool, winces at the way his muscles pull and protest, and moves to stand across from them. "Uh, hi," he says. "Sorry about that. I have a thing I'm working on. Kind of important."

"So is this," Pepper replies, curt and sharp. "Tony, you have a major problem."

"Only one?" It's a bad joke, and he shrinks away from the daggers she glares at him. "Sorry. What's up?"

Cecil puts one meaty paw on the table and leans forward. "First off, I'm sorry. I blew it with the girl. It never even-"

"Just – stop," Tony cuts him off. "I have work to do. So skip all that crap and get to the part where you tell me what the hell Tom Andrews is doing."

His traitor COO. Little weasel-faced fucker.

"Well, let me connect a couple dots for you," Cecil says. "The reason Tom set you up to take the fall with this girl? He's your leak. He's the one who let the arc reactor plans get stolen. I'm thinking he got you pushed out so he could get his hands on a newer revision of the plans."

Tony counts to ten.

Twice.

"I'm gonna kill him," he says through teeth that are clenched together so hard they feel like they're about to snap off. "That son-of-a-bitch."

"No," Pepper says. "No, you're not. You need to listen. We can't prove this – not legally." She slides the file folder across the table. "These are his bank records, texts, and some personal emails we, um, well. We got them. We can't use them, of course, but they prove he put everything in motion."

"Okay, I should not know about this," Tony says. Because this is the fingers-in-the-ears, la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you kind of conversation the recently-suspended CEO of a multi-billion dollar company just does not need to be having. "I mean, if you did what I'm going to pretend I don't think you did. It's not exactly-"

"It's illegal," she says, nodding. Chin up, like it doesn't matter to her, and the sight of that leaves Tony feeling a little proud and a lot alarmed. Since when does she just shrug off the fact that she's doing something illegal? "We know. That's why we can't use it. But there are a couple of emails between Tom and whoever he paid to find the girl and your lookalike, and between him and the guy he had following you that night and for two weeks before _that_."

"Well, maybe we can go at him," Cecil says.

"I'm more concerned about what he's planning to steal," Tony says.

"What he's planning to have stolen," Cecil corrects him. "He's not working alone. According to that-" he taps the file "-he bought off three guys outta the R & D department – one manager and a coupla techs. They were the ones who stole the first set of reactor plans."

Tony takes another deep breath. Lets it out, slowly. "I want new security protocols in place today," he says quietly. "Not tomorrow. Not next week. To. Day. No work is to leave that lab for any reason without at least two of your security guys there to supervise. I want Tom Andrews and the three R & D guys watched at all times – where they go, who they talk to, what they're doing. I want to know everything."

"That's gonna be a tall ask, boss," Cecil says. "I can't push new security protocols without running it up the food chain. What do I tell them?"

It's Pepper who answers, "Just tell them you're trying to crack down on employee thefts."

Tony points at her. "That. What she said."

"So what are we going to do about Tom?" she asks.

"_We_ are not going to do anything," Tony says. "Cecil is going to have his people watch him, and after I get this Bruce thing sorted out, I'll go in and have a nice, long chat. But – could you do me a favor? Find out where the hell City in Texas is. I need him."

First time he's actually thought about the kid since the day all that paperwork – the documents to make Andrews CEO and the ones to authorize the transfer of funds to the girl – appeared on his counter. There haven't been any phone calls or emails or anything, either, which is actually a little odd because on a normal day if the kid's not buzzing around gnat-like, then he's calling or sending emails or – whatever. Generally making a pain in the ass out of himself.

But a useful one.

Pepper blinks like she's trying to convey a message in Morse code. "Um. He told me you fired him. Said he's going back to his job over at OsCorp."

"What _is it_ lately with people accusing me of doing things I haven't done? Do I have a sign on me somewhere that says 'Tony Stark: I'll Be Your Whipping Boy'? Actually, you know what? Don't answer that." Because he knows her well enough to know she's thinking exactly the same thing he's thinking. Her blush gives her away. "I didn't fire him," he says. "I _forgot_ him."

"...oh," she says.

Which, yeah, that sounds bad, forgetting somebody, but he's been distracted. It happens.

"Can you maybe give him a call and see if you can find out who _did_ fire him?" he asks her.

That thread holding his temper in check is really starting to strain. It's the feeling somebody who's about to be drawn and quartered must get when everything is stretched out to the point where it's just starting to get painful.

All these things happening right under his nose, and he can't seem to keep on top of any of them.

Pepper, who knows him just a little, must have seen a change in his expression, because she reaches across the table and touches his forearm. Squeezes. "Sure," she says. "And if there's anything else I can do for you, like maybe help find you another assistant, let me know. I can also just do whatever else you were going to have him do, if it's within reason."

"I was just gonna have him make travel arrangements for my lawyer," he says, a little touched despite himself. "He's in Malibu right now. If I'm going to take a run at Tommy-boy, then I'd rather have my lawyer handy. You never know. And the assistant thing, yeah, I might take you up on that. But not right now. JARVIS can babysit me until then."

"Happy I can be of some use to you, sir," JARVIS says dryly. "Dr. Banner has just awakened."

"Okay. I'll be right up." Tony glances up at the ceiling, thinking. "Hey, anything in those emails about who he sold those reactor plans to?"

"There are a couple of emails to somebody at a Yahoo! address that I think mighta been it," Cecil tells him. "Pretty cryptic, though, and those freebie email addresses are just as bad as prepaid cell phones when it comes time to track 'em down. I'll check, though."

"I'll take care of Matt and Dallas," Pepper says. "And if you need anything else, you call me. Okay?"

Tony nods, scrubs a hand through his hair. "Okay," he says. "So we're all clear, then? Nobody goes after Tom but me. Nobody does anything that might alert him that we're onto him. Just watch him. Tighten security. Keep digging, Cecil. See if anything else shakes loose. Keep me up to speed."

"Will do," Cecil says.

"You gonna be okay?" Pepper asks him.

"When am I ever okay?" Tony shoots back. "If I can just get a couple of these fires put out, I should be. And speaking of..."

"Okay, okay," she says, turning. "I'll be in touch. Be careful." The starch has mostly gone out of her posture. Her hands are loose at her sides. Her shoulders are still square, and her chin's still up, but with determination rather than irritation. She walks, rather than marches, away.

"Hang on, Cecil," Tony shoots out of the corner of his mouth. The big guy pauses near the corner of the old table, bushy gray-shot brown eyebrows bunched together in a frown. As soon as Pepper's out of earshot, Tony turns and looks him square in the eye. "Keep her safe, okay? She has a really bad habit of getting herself in trouble when she gets like this."

Cecil smirks. "Wonder where she got that from?'

"You kidding me? I got that from _her_. But, seriously, make sure she's safe. Because I've got-"

"I know, boss. I know. End of the world stuff."

Tony blinks. "Why does everybody always assume Iron Man stuff means the end of the world?"

"Jesus Christ, did you _see_ the pictures that came out of DC after all you guys were there? Looked like something straight out of a war movie. It's amazing anything was left. How many people died?"

"Eight hundred seventy-two, between the two attacks." If he closes his eyes, Tony can still see some of them sprawled out on the street. "It would have been a lot worse if we hadn't done anything at all. And, hey, we did save the White House and the Capitol Building."

"All things considered, we'd have been better off losing the buildings. Fuckin' government." The big man heads off after Pepper. "I'll take care of her, Mr. Stark."

"Make sure you do," Tony mutters at his back.

xXx

Saying Bruce is out of it is kind of like saying Tony Stark has had a few lovers in his day: something that lands just this side of gross understatement.

Bruce is all glassy eyes and stoned-stupid grin and words that stumble and trip on their way off his tongue. Which is to be expected, given he's coming out of a sedative haze.

The unexpected part is just how _happy_ he is.

Trying to talk to him is like trying to talk to somebody whose brain has been replaced by a giant, fuzzy teddy bear holding a giant, fuzzy red heart that has "I LUV U" stitched on it.

"...guys're are so great," he's slurring. His hair is a shooting up in all directions, and there's the faintest traces of a blanket seam in his cheek. He's grinning as he says this. "Bes' guys. The bes'. Love you guys so much. You don't even _know_."

Tony's standing inside the fish tank with his fist stuffed against his mouth, chortling, because Bruce also kinda-sorta has Thor in a hug that's almost a headlock. And Thor has this total deer-in-the-headlights thing going on, all wide eyes and eyebrows up in his hairline and a kind of frozen little smile.

"Um," Tony says with twitching lips. "I, uh. I need to get back to the lab."

He'd been hoping to ask Bruce about how he reacted to radiation, but he knows now it won't be happening.

Thor shoots him kind of a desperate look. "Man of Iron, did you not wish to stay and question him?" His voice has risen almost half an octave.

Tony snorts. "I think I'm good," he says, backing off toward the door. "Looks like you've got things under control there, big guy. I have radiation to track down. Call me if you need anything."

"M-Man of Iron!" Thor splutters.

"...love your hammer, man," Bruce is saying, his arm tightening around the back of Thor's neck. "Such a _great_ weapon. All big and st-stuff. Magic, man. _Magic_."

"Yes, yes, it is," Thor says, trying to extricate himself from the headlock. "Man of Iron!"

Tony closes the door behind him.

"JARVIS," he says as soon as he's back inside the house, "tell me you're getting all that."

"I am indeed, sir," JARVIS says. "Will this be going YouTube?"

"JARVIS!" Tony yelps, mock-scandalized. "Not until the others have had a chance to see it!"

xXx

JARVIS is able to narrow the location of the radiation to four sources around the house.

When Tony goes outside – just to the front and sides of the house; he _so_ avoids the back yard – he finds three of these small black devices that make his suit's brand new Geiger counter start clicking like a chipmunk on speed. They're about the size and shape of hockey pucks, maybe a little bigger, and inside of them is three compartments, which contain all the radioactive material.

He finds a dozen more at his tower, scattered on the roof, on the balconies, and on top of the penthouse elevator.

And, oh buddy, he's seeing red by the time he tosses the last one into a makeshift containment unit.

Thing is, there are no security cameras in any of the places he'd found the devices. There are motion detectors and scanners on the roof and balcony, and on the one and only access to the penthouse elevator shaft. Loki aside, the security logs don't show he's had any intruders.

Speaking of the chaos god, he's probably got the mojo to make this happen.

But – and it's so not because he's getting soft toward the crazy fucker or anything – Tony can't see it. Why would he be carrying something that screws with this magic?

Birds, though.

JARVIS has been programmed to ignore, but log, when things like birds land on the balcony (something that doesn't happen that often given the height of his tower), and Tony notices in the past week there have been a lot of pigeon landings on the roof, on the balconies, and a few have even gotten in the elevator shaft somehow. How, he has no idea, but there it is, plain as the text scrolling in the air.

"Okay, that's pretty fucking clever," Tony mutters.

Clever, and really disturbing. Means whoever sent the birds knows his security system.

He takes the suit off once all the little hockey pucks are tucked away. As the robo-fingers are doing their thing, Tony asks JARVIS get Steve on the line.

Steve answers after the first ring. "Tony, hey," he says. "I was just going to call you. I just got back to the mansion here a minute ago. Can you explain to me why Thor is heaping curses on your name, and why Bruce is, um, havingrelationswithhispillow ?"

"Bruce is _what_?" Tony asks, stepping away from the platform and heading over to his stool. He knows what he _thought_ he heard, but...

"He's, um. H-having. Um. He's... _With his pillow_, Tony."

"What's he doing with his pillow, Cap?" Tony deadpans. "I'm not following. Describe it to me in detail."

And, oh, what he wouldn't pay to be able to see Steve's face right now.

"Tony!" Steve yelps. "This isn't funny. He's...he's...doing things with his pillow. It's disgusting."

"JARVIS?" Tony asks.

"Capturing it for posterity, sir," is the droll reply. "Both Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner, as I assume you'll want to make a montage."

"How well you know me." Tony stretches his legs out in front of him and leans back on the desk. "Just don't look, Steve. He can't help it. Whatever we gave him has him all kinds of screwed up."

"Don't-! He's in a clear box. How am I not supposed to look?"

"I dunno. Close your eyes. Turn your back. Go into the house. Or, hey, go in there and get some."

"I don't want any of…that." There's both horror and scandal in his tone. "Can you please be serious?"

Tony squints at the security log still open in front of him. "You said S.H.I.E.L.D. tested this stuff on him. Did he not react this way before?"

There's a bit of a pause before Steve says, "I didn't actually see the side effects, so I don't know. All I do know is Director Fury told me it was about six hours after he woke up before he was back to normal."

"It's only been about four hours," Tony says, "so just leave him to his humping. We have some bigger fish to fry, anyway." He waves the security log away and calls up a new scan of the tower's radiation levels. As expected, they've gone back down to near-zero.

He gives Steve a quick rundown of the situation, explaining the radiation pucks and having found them where he found them, and that he's not completely convinced that they're what's screwing with Bruce's other guy. Probably is, but he doesn't _know_ that.

Steve doesn't say anything after Tony finishes. Tony's getting around to wondering if maybe Steve hung up, when O Captain, My Captain says, hesitation slowing the words, "Look, uh, I know this – I probably shouldn't say this, but I think we should bring S.H.I.E.L.D. in."

"Because...?"

"Well, what there are more of those things? Not just around us. S.H.I.E.L.D. could help us look for them. I mean, you just said you'd have to fly around the city with your Iron Man suit in order to track them down, right? They could probably do it faster. Or at least help."

"...um." Tony grimaces. Mostly because doesn't sound like a half-bad idea.

"They could be looking for them while we try to figure out who made them and who stuck them there," Steve points out. He sounds like a puppy with a wagging tail again.

Tony knocks his fist against the side of the table, gently. "...yeah," he says. "Yeah, I think you're right. It – shit. All right. Make the call. JARVIS can help you explain everything."

"Okay," and there's relief in Steve's voice now. Makes Tony feel a little guilty. "You coming back to the mansion?"

Tony shakes his head before he realizes Steve can't see it. He hops off the stool and heads for the containment unit. "Not right this second, no. I'll see what I can figure out about these little pucks here – away from lover boy. When he's functional again, I'll head back over." He clears his throat. "You know we're gonna have a problem there, don't you? The whole Clint thing."

"Yeah, I know. I did talk to Clint, by the way. They lowered his morphine dose, so he was a little less loopy. He's pretty upset."

"I'm sure he is," Tony says. He picks up one of the pucks and tosses it back and forth between his hands. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. What's your read on Tasha?"

That she hasn't left Clint's side is pretty telling, but he never knows.

Steve says, "I think they'll both come around if we can find the reason this happened."

"Speaking of which, that's my exit ramp. I'm gonna get to work here. Let me know when Bruce starts acting more like himself and less like-"

"You?" A grin in Steve's voice. There is hope for the man yet. "Will do."

"Well, I was gonna say less like a horny teenager."

"What's the difference?"

Steve hangs up before Tony has a chance to answer.

Yep. Definitely hope.

xXx

An hour later, still locked away in his tower lab, Tony hasn't gotten all that far.

Well.

He knows the exact composition of all the radioactive materials inside the puck and the composition of the puck itself, but those things don't tell him as much as he'd hoped they would. The radioactive materials aren't all that uncommon, and the puck shells don't have any manufacturer markings or anything on them.

Still: "Get me a list of companies who'd have access to these materials – any or all of them. Divide it up by who has access to what."

Most of the materials in the puck aren't available to just any Joe Schmoe, so he figures his best bet is to see if he can link these things together to a company.

"Compiling," JARVIS tells him. "Estimated time to completion five hours and forty-five minutes."

Tony, still idly turning over one of the pucks in his hand, waves him off. "Take your time. Have to test this on Bruce, anyway, so-"

JARVIS says, "Sir, intruder-"

"Am I to take it that means you've isolated what has affected your…Hulk?" a soft-as-silk voice says over JARVIS, somewhere from behind Tony.

The unexpected sound startles Tony clean off his stool. "Son of a _bitch_!" he gasps, jerking around, wild-eyed, heart thudding in his ears. "What the f-? Loki! Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing here?"

Loki's slouched back against the wall near one of the toolboxes, his habitual amused look in place, his hands in his pockets. Once again, he's wearing what Tony would call casual dress: dark slacks with a thin dark green sweater and black shoes. His smile is a touch sharp, but he doesn't answer.

Not that Tony would have given him a chance to. "How did you even get _in_ here?" He rails. "And, uh, hey, by the way, how the fuck did you even know I was here in the first place? You said you took your magic out of me."

"I did," Loki says mildly. "I have my ways."

"What ways?"

"Ways that are mine to know." He frowns at a point over Tony's shoulder. The suits, Tony thinks belatedly, and dammit, how has he not come up with some kind of anti-magic defense grid? That needs to be a thing. Loki, meanwhile, shifts his attention back to Tony. "Did you think I could not get in anywhere I wanted within this tower of yours?" When he pushes away from the wall, it's with jerky movements. He doesn't as much pull his hands out of his pockets as he does yank them out. "I assure you," he adds, "I can. I will. You have no means to keep me out, should I wish to come here."

Tony blinks at that. He feels like a hand is gripping the base of his spine. "You should leave now. Before I-"

"Before you call my brother." Loki grins a sudden, hard grin. "Oh, I would love to see you explain the state in which I plan to leave you."

Creeper of fear like a slow drip of ice water in his veins, but Tony's voice is steady enough when he says, "Oh. So you're here for a booty call."

"A _what_?"

"Haven't heard that one? Okay. You're here for sex. Which, by the way? Not happening. I'm busy, and you can't just show up and expect me to drop everything. And what the hell is your deal, anyway?"

"My deal."

"Jesus, I thought you knew our slang better than that. Your deal. You showing up here acting like you're on some kind of power trip." So, yeah, apparently he can talk to a god this way now. "'I can go wherever I want. I can do whatever I want.' Well, no. No you can't. Not with me. Doesn't work that way. So. What's your deal?"

Loki gives him a long, unreadable look, all guarded green eyes and a flat mouth. "Nothing," he says at last. "I have much on my mind this afternoon. I am attempting to clear my head."

"Oh? Anything big and evil I need to worry about?" he asks lightly, backing off.

He's expecting a mocking smirk and a slanted look. Loki gives him neither. Instead, he inclines his head and says, straight-faced and weary, "You have no idea, Stark."

…_oh_.

Tony sucks down a hard breath. Feels a little like he's lost cabin pressure in his head, because – _oh, are you serious?_ – yes, on top of everything else that's going on right now, they need this.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Just then, though, Loki's lips twitch. The serious look dissolves into something wicked and amused, and he throws his head back and starts laughing. It's sharp laugh, but not cutting; manic, but not hysterical; edgy, but not uncontrolled.

This either _is_ something, or it's about something, and how Tony's gotten to be so good at being able to hear all the nuances in the guy's laughter, he doesn't know. Does not want to know.

He glares, in any case, and, rather than try to poke at this, says, "Okay, listen, Boy Who Cried Wolf, you keep doing that, and I'm not going to believe you when you really come to tell me the shit's coming down."

Loki's laughter tapers to chuckles, and he inclines his head again. "You assume I would. I assure you, I would not. Why ruin the surprise?"

"Okay, point. No, I know better, but still."

"Oh, very well," Loki says, with an audible eye-roll. "I'll refrain making such jests. Back to my initial question: _did_ you find the source of what was bothering your beast?"

Warily, Tony reaches behind him for the little puck. He had actually forgotten about it. "I found these little bastards outside my mansion and all over the tower here. They're emitting some kind of radiation. And, hey, since you're here maybe you can tell me if this is what's interfering with your magic."

Loki stares at the puck like it's a slug that just crawled onto his dinner plate. "What is it?"

"Just a box full of radioactive goo. Here." He crosses the room and holds it out. "It's safe enough. We're not talking any serious amount of radiation here. Look, just pick it up and tell me if you can feel it screwing with your magic."

"And what do I get in return for doing this?"

"The satisfaction of knowing you're helping Bruce?" Off Loki's raised eyebrows and mock-incredulous look: "Can't blame me for trying. What do you want?"

"To have you over your table." Loki's smile spreads like dye through water, a slow curl of lips, and his eyes gleam in a way that sends a third of Tony's blood rushing downward in a kind of weird Pavlovian response. Which is just not fair.

That bastard just shows up in a place where he's not supposed to be and he expects…

…well, of course he does.

He's Loki.

"That..." Tony swallows. "That's a thing we could do. Um."

He shouldn't – work to do , and, yeah, he's not sure he loves the idea of getting fucked in his own lab – but, yeah, all of a sudden he's having trouble remembering why it would be a bad idea.

That look, the one Loki's wearing. That look is like fucking Kryptonite. Makes it hard to think.

_Hard, heh_._ Jesus_.

Loki plucks up the little puck up out of Tony's hand, gingerly, smile gone and mouth pulled tight. His eyes narrow, then close, and his forehead knots. He drops the puck with a quiet hiss.

"_Yes_," he says through his teeth, and he holds up his hand again. A weak green flame appears for a moment over his fingers, a tiny, pale, guttering thing that dances like it's caught in a strong wind. "Take it away."

Tony grabs the puck and drops it into the containment area. "Okay. Try it now."

The flame that appears this time is a darker green, and curls snakelike up Loki's arm instead of just hovering over his palm. "Better," he says. The snake disappears in a little puff of smoke. "Much better."

"Great," Tony says. "So now I just need to figure out how to adapt that into a way to stop you. You know, for when the time ever comes."

When, not if.

The question – when will it happen? – is like an itch Tony can't reach, and fidgets his way through the silence that falls between them. Loki's gone unreadable again. It's kind of like staring at a blank wall.

But finally, the big guy stirs, rests his hands on the table, smiles an odd Mona Lisa smile, and says, "Indeed. When the time comes." The smiles knifes sideways, and – _Jesus Christ_ – that look again: head lowered so he's looking at Tony from under his eyelids, heat and want radiating out of him like a furnace. "Shall we?"

Tony swallows.

"…yeah."

xXx

Afterward, with Tony still hunched over the table, his body covered in scratches and bruises and welts and sore like he's run a marathon – Loki doesn't appear to know the word 'gentle,' but that's okay as far as Tony's concerned. Rough and tumble, he's good with. Anything else would just be weird – lifts his head enough to say, "Your turn, next time."

Loki, lazily lathing the hollow under Tony's jaw with his tongue, pulls back. Slow fingers trail down a scratch on Tony's shoulder. "If you'd like," he finally says.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I would."

"It may be some time before I'm able to return. I have some matters to attend to this next week."

"Anything big and evil I need to worry about?" Tony asks again.

Because this is one of those moments when he wants nothing more than to take Loki apart, to peel back his layers, to unpack all his parts and pieces to find out what the hell makes him tick. They've put down this unspoken rule that they don't pry, they don't ask, they pretend like they're not going to wind up killing each other one day, and it's a pretty fucking stupid rule as rules go.

Meanwhile, Loki has already moved away and begun dressing himself. "Not particularly," he finally says, as he's pulling his shirt back on. "Not yet, anyway."

"'Not yet.'" Tony straightens, wincing at the stiffness in his legs, and turns to lean back on the table. "Something's coming, though, isn't it? You've been way too quiet lately. So I know you're up to something."

"You know as well as I do that something is always coming, Stark. It is, as I said before, a restless world." The smile he offers is strained.

"One of these days, you're gonna have let me know what that something is," Tony blurts.

"That would be telling," Loki replies. "But if it puts your mind at ease, you have my word I will not be attempting to conquer this planet again. Others might, perhaps, but I find I've lost the taste for ruling. As you put it, I am made for chaos, not order."

Tony straightens, wincing. "That's not very comforting."

"No? Well." He shrugs back into his jacket. "I've said all I mean to on the subject, so it'll have to suffice. Now." Fully dressed, now, he moves to stand in front of Tony again. His hands fall soft on Tony's shoulders. "I realize it is quite impossible for you, but try to stay out of trouble while I'm away. I won't be in any position to rescue you."

"Hey!" Tony says, mock-outraged. "I can take care of myself. And besides, it's not like I try to find trouble. It-"

"It finds you, yes, I'm aware. Still." He leans forward to graze the side of Tony's neck with his teeth. "Do try."

Shuddering, Tony reaches up and slides a hand around the back of Loki's neck, his fingers curling in Loki's messy dark hair.

Loki draws away again, looks down at Tony for a long moment with frown-shaded eyes, and then swoops down to kiss him. It's a quick move, lightening from a clear sky. Tony, braced for another onslaught of a kiss, is surprised to find it landing just this side of chaste, almost gentle, something slow and languid and easy.

Familiar in some weird way that Tony might find a little disturbing, if he wasn't so busy relaxing into it.

Enjoying it.

Eventually, one of them pulls away, or maybe they both do, Tony doesn't know, all he knows is he leans back and opens his eyes to find himself staring into an empty space.

"Jesus," he mutters, rolling his eyes.

Because, seriously, what the hell?

xXx

A little over an hour later, Tony's back at the mansion, and glad of it.

Better to be there and have something outside himself to focus on.

Steve and Thor are inside the fish tank with a much-calmer, but hilariously mortified, Bruce, who, as it turns out remembers just about everything.

In fact, he's still apologizing when Tony saunters in.

"-couldn't control what I was doing. I am _so_ sorry."

"You are forgiven," Thor says stiffly. "Let us not speak of this again."

"Why would we need to?" Tony puts in from the doorway. "I have it all on video. And, you know. Pictures. A thousand words. So how are you feeling? Not gonna grope me if I come in, right? Not that I'd _mind_, but you know, not in front of the kids."

Bruce, who looks a little pale, but seems fine otherwise, dark eyes clear and sane, smiles a wan smile and says, "I'm okay. I think. I don't know."

Steve, standing at the foot of the bed, glances over at Tony. "So?"

"So!" Tony says, holding up the last of the hockey puck-looking things, the one he'd left in the yard. "Anybody up for a little show and tell?"

xXx

Bruce is surprisingly okay with letting Tony stick the puck thing inside the tank with him. Seems grateful, actually, and Tony doesn't blame him: his freakouts will go down a hell of a lot easier if it turns out they're being caused by something.

He shares Tony's doubts about that little radiation being able to trigger Hulk, but he concedes it could be the combination of the three.

They agree to hold off until the morning, though, so Bruce can have a chance to get some food and more rest. Steve pushes for holding off even longer, but Bruce tells him in no uncertain terms that they can't wait for the test.

Tony crashes at the mansion that night. He ignores the way Steve grins when Tony says he's staying over. Because something in Steve's expression screams 'we're having a sleepover!' like he's an excited kid, and Tony doesn't have the heart to tell him it's just because he feels a little weird about going back to the tower right now.

Shortly after dawn, Steve, Thor, and Tony all gather around Bruce's holding cell. They're all three wearing their respective armor and they're all carrying a hypodermic needle with a diluted dose of the sedative.

They're not supposed to use it, not for another day, but Tony figures a diluted dose would be enough to at least give Bruce a way back to get control.

He hopes.

About half an hour or so after they stick the puck thing in with Bruce, Bruce Hulks out.

Big time.

It happens fast: Bruce starts getting agitated for no apparent reason, and then _bam_. Mean and green, big as life, explodes out of the chair and starts pounding his wrecking-ball fists against the sides of the tank. His muffled roars shake the trees. He kicks the makeshift bed and chair.

The tank shakes, rattles, and rolls with Hulk throwing himself and his fists and his feet against it, but the walls hold. They don't even crack.

So Tony, Thor, and Steve sort of stand back and let the big guy rage.

It takes a good three hours, but Hulk finally burns himself out enough that, while Steve and Thor stand outside keeping Hulk's sulky attention, Tony's able to fly in and grab the puck before the Jolly Green Giant can even get to his feet.

"Guess we have a winner," Tony says, tossing the puck aside.

xXx

Half an hour later, Bruce comes back to himself.

The look he gives Tony when Tony tells him the news is one of almost heartbreaking relief.

xXx

Later that afternoon, Tony's alone in the lab (Steve and Thor having taken Bruce to visit Tasha and Clint) when JARVIS mentions that the list of companies who had access to the materials in the puck.

It's not a huge list, and it doesn't take long for a couple names to jump out at Tony.

Stark Industries is on there, which he expected.

Oddly enough, so is OsCorp.

Could be a coincidence, maybe, but he wonders.

Xxx

_Survival on adrenaline it's over soon  
Doesn't everyone have their own walk to walk  
Doesn't everyone?  
_-Gazpacho, "The Walk"

A/N: Thanks for reading.


	12. I know what I'm really like

11. **"I know what I'm really like. I'm bleeding; I don't mind. That was very foolish of me. I can do nothing now."**

It would, Loki muses in the breathless moment before he disappears, be so simple to kill Stark.

Standing that close, close enough to kiss, close enough to touch, close enough to feel, he'd only need to reach out and pluck the machine out of the man's chest. Stark, sitting there naked and debauched with his eyes closed and his hair wild and his swollen, bitten lips still parted as if in anticipation _– _and gods, so trusting – would not even see it coming.

He would be dead before his other machine, the voice in the air, could raise an alert.

How simple a thing.

And yet...

Loki rolls the ball of his thumb over Stark's lower lip, a whisper of a touch. Stark's breath catches, soft and off-center, and at that startled sound, Loki smirks.

He lowers his hands, steps back, and vanishes, soundless, only to reappear in his own room.

Simple, yes, he muses, padding over to his bed and perching on the edge, but inconvenient.

The last thing he needs is to give his brother and the Avengers another reason to _actively _hunt him. At the moment, he still has them off-balance enough thanks to his recent assistance in closing all the tears and handling the beast that they have allowed him to walk away. It is a sign of their peculiar weakness, this lenience, as he himself would have closed the noose had he been in their place, but it is a weakness he is all to happy to exploit.

When the time comes (and he is certain it will), Stark will be the last to die.

Stark is, as far as Loki has seen, the one holding the Avengers together. He is the mind behind them, the money funding them, the center around which they all gather. While it appears they follow Captain America's lead during battles, it appears they follow Stark's lead everywhere else.

To remove Stark is to cut out the very heart of the Avengers.

The ironies are numerous and amusing: in many ways, Stark is the most fragile of them all – and not simply because he is an ordinary mortal with nothing more than a shell of metal to protect him from whatever evils the universe throws his way. A man with a machine guarding his heart, he appears to prefer isolation over the company of his fellows. That he has consented to bedding Loki at all means he is quite capable of putting his wants above the good of his team.

And yet, the not-inconsiderable force of his personality keeps the Avengers together.

His death would be a devastating blow, certainly, and one that would no doubt wind up throwing the Avengers into a state of utter chaos. It might, however, also end up becoming an even more potent touchstone than the other mortal's – _Coulson? Was that his name? _– death had.

That, in short, is more trouble than it is worth.

Better to wait until Thanos's army and the Avengers have had the opportunity to wear one another down, until they're so consumed with one another neither side notices him slip in.

Deaths are easier to disguise in the middle of such rampant chaos.

But.

That is for later.

Until that time, he can take his selfish pleasure in his time with Stark.

As a lover, Stark is fiery, sharp, reactive, reckless. He's fearless enough to submit, and strong enough to take the lead. Once he gets past that initial wariness, once he _commits_, he does not hold back and he does not back down from a challenge.

More interestingly, he is quite willing to put own selfish pleasure above good sense and desires of his own people: Loki has no doubts that were the Avengers to discover what he and Stark had been up to, Stark would be captured and imprisoned for consorting with an enemy. He would be removed from the Avengers, would lose access to his machines, and would, in all likelihood, be vilified.

Either he does not realize this, or, more likely, he knows and simply does not _care_.

And that...

His casual mention of a "next time" had shot something dark and heated and satisfied through Loki, some complicated jolt of a feeling that he decides not to dig too deeply at. He does not need to know what it is: the sex is good and Stark, though obnoxious and overly talkative, is intelligent enough to be decent company.

Those are things that have been lacking in Loki's life since his fall from Asgard, and they are things that, while not terribly important, are things that he has missed – more, perhaps, that he realized. Enough, apparently, for him to actually feel compelled to admonish Stark to be careful.

He's still not sure what possessed him to even say that, but he can't deny that he'd rather enjoyed seeing Stark's discomfited, startled look.

Reveling in the unexpected, he supposes.

It had been a useful distraction, at least: he had been chasing his thoughts around in frustrating, unproductive circles for the better part of the day, as he'd attempted to determine not only the best way to go about acquiring the Wizard's Eye, but also to try to guess at the rest of Thanos's plans . He had been on the verge of snapping something in half by the time he'd followed Stark's arc reactor back to the man himself.

Idly, he wonders what Stark would think if he knew that it was not magic, but rather Stark's own technology and its unique energy, that allowed Loki to locate him now. Ever since he'd touched the device with his own fingers, ever since he'd felt it_ resonate_ in Stark's chest, he has been able to close his eyes and _sense_ that energy out there. He can see it, bright and distinct, like a single star on a dark night canvas-

-_like a white-lit object in the middle of an unclothed chest-_

-and all he has to do is follow it back to the source.

Which will make it easier, at the end of all this, when it comes time to extinguish that light.

Loath as he will no doubt be to do it.

Loki slips his shoes off and stretches out on his bed.

There is still so much to do, so many things that require his attention, but...

But.

Clear-headed now, and relaxed for the first time all day, he finds himself wanting for sleep above anything else.

He'll be short enough on it in the days to come, no doubt.

No doubt.

xXx

_Victory, and Asgard is burning._

(This is not the end of all things, Child of Winter.)

_Golden spires reduced to nothing more than piles of smoldering rock and pillars of ashy smoke, fire-licked and tinged orange-yellow like the breath from some enormous dragon._

_And it is red._

_Red everywhere: red in the sky, red on the rock, red on the ground, red on the bodies._

_Red on his hands._

_The streets run gory with blood and body parts, a debris-filled sea of red-red-red that stains rather than cleans everything it washes by. Choking smell of rich copper in the air and a cacophony of dying moans rising up from the ground like a awful fog, thick and impenetrable._

_Victory._

_And Asgard is burning._

_(Somewhere behind him, in the distance, a fire giant roars.)_

_Beneath his feet is a mountain of bones, a pile of crushed skulls and fractured ribs and shattered limbs that seems to push him further and further off the ground with each breath. In one hand is an eye – Odin's eye, Wizard's Eye – and in the other hand is a bloody staff._

_Instrument of death._

_The sharp end of the sword, wielded with his eye-hand (and, oh, that sweet call of power, pure power, __how it sings in his veins, how it holds him in its sway), that destroys everything, that _ends_ everything._

(This is not the end of all things, Child of Winter.)

_Noxious ash searing his lungs. It burns like acid in wet eyes._

_Odin's head at his feet._

_Thor's head. Frigga's. Sif's. Fandral's. Volstagg's. Hogun's. Heimdall's._

_Their bload-soaked heads, before him in a line. Eyes open: witnessing, watching, waiting._

Accusing_._

_He has killed them all. Himself. He wielded the scepter and felled them all with its sharpened magical blade, his unquenchable energy laying waste to their pitiful armor, making water of their flesh. And he gloated at the sounds of their death throes, gloried as the life-lights dimmed from their faces, glutted himself in their blood._

_Laughs over their bones: the mad king on his gruesome throne._

_Laughs into a blood-red, ash-choked sky, and celebrates this victory, this absolute, crushing success. All those who would hold him back, all those who would dangle power in front of him only to keep it ever beyond his reach, all those who would dare try to oppose his rule are beneath him._

_And he grinds their bones to dust._

_Victory._

_And Asgard is burning._

_But it is _his,_ here, in the end._

(This is not the end of all-)

Loki jerks awake, mad, horrified laughter dying on his lips.

Sweating, body tingling like he has just dropped into a bucket of magical energy, he pulls himself up against the headboard and blinks into the early evening darkness around him.

The ragged edges of a gruesome dream hang at the fringes of his mind, still raw and bleeding, terrible in their potency. His hands refuse to stop shaking, and he feels _cold_ in a way that has nothing whatsoever to do with his Jotun heritage.

_Is this_, he thinks, bitterly, as he huddles against his headboard, _how it's to be?_

Pursuing destruction and power, courting death in a way Thanos never could, raining madness and chaos in an endless churning cycle? Killing anything and everything he might have held dear, once upon a time? Giving into wanton insanity, letting go of that last tentative thread keeping him grounded?

He thought he'd done that, already, when he'd fallen into the abyss. As he fell, he abandoned the pretense that he was an Odinson, and he gave up the false hope that he was ever anything more than another stolen relic in the house of Odin. He let go of the idea that he was anything like Thor, and instead embraced the role of Thor's opposite, of the defiant son of two kings.

Of the monster.

But.

Even if he could see his way clear to murdering any of them – Odin, Thor, Frigga – he cannot imagine what _possible_ insanity could possess him to laugh over their bones, to _revel_ in the fall of Asgard.

"_I'm the monster parents tell their children about at night_."

No.

Yes.

_Yes_, but that does not mean he must succumb to it. Though he has, in the past, taken delight in murder, that does not mean he _enjoy _it. That was madness, a manic fever that, in retrospect was a regrettable mistake. Something that he might like to do differently, given a chance, as murder, he now realizes, is something not to be committed for no reason.

Killing is merely a means to an end, something to be avoided unless necessary.

There are far better, subtler ways, to win power.

He passes a steadier hand over his eyes and turns to lower his feet to the floor.

A dream.

It is but a dream.

And yet, even as he tells himself this, he wonders how long he is going to be able to keep convincing himself of that.

...if he ever _has_ been convinced of that.

Still, this is not the time or the place to examine it too deeply.

There is yet work to do, and precious little time to do it.

Muspelheim, an Eye – _in one hand is an eye, Wizard's Eye_ – and a mad Titan, are all in his immediate future, and he cannot afford such distractions.

xXx

Two days later, clad in full battle armor, Loki stands before Thanos again, staff in hand, calm and ready.

As ready as one can be given the ridiculous task he is about to undertake.

A host of a hundred of Thanos's soldiers – a hundred armored, Thor-sized warriors with projectile weapons and swords and spears – stands assembled behind him, ten by ten, ominous in their black-on-blacks.

Thanos stands before him, a veritable giant, massive and imposing with his burning eyes and unflinching madman's grin, surveying the assembled company.

Behind him, tucked in the shadows, is that Other. Loki can feel his glare.

"Before you leave, godling." Thanos says just then, his voice sharp as the edges of his grin, "tell me: have you constructed the portal?"

"Given your proximity to Earth, I will not require a machine to create a portal," Loki replies. "I will open it myself – without tearing a hole in the dimensional wall, I should add – long enough for you to bring your army through. The Eye will amplify my power enough for that."

"And how, exactly, do we return?" Thanos asks, tone deceptively mild.

Loki swallows, adjusts his helmet. "When the time comes, I will open another portal."

Thanos's grin fades, his expression sliding into danger-dark territory. "_Unacceptable_."

"It will have to _be _acceptable," Loki says, his voice remaining even despite the cool chill creeping up his spine. His hand tightens on the staff. "I do not have the means to _build_ you machine that generates a portal. It would require weeks – months, perhaps – and I would have to enslave humans again. It is an unnecessary risk when I can, as I said, safely open a portal myself."

"You assume you will live to do that," Thanos rumbles, his voice like the shearing of a rock face.

"I plan to survive, yes. Unless, perhaps, you know something I do not."

Eyes like twin suns stare like they're trying to burn holes through him. "Considering it is your wish to throw yourself against these Avengers, even if it brings you to your death..."

"Ah. Well. I intend to let them live long enough to meet your army. I want them to see the the end of their world before I take them out. And I shall, one by one, while you bring the full force of your army to bear."

"Will your portal be large enough to my fit ships through?"

Loki has no idea, in truth, but he nods anyway. Anything to speed this up, anything to make it possible for him to get away from this infernal place. "You will have a demonstration when I bring your army across to Muspelheim." Ships, though. The word penetrates, and Loki blinks. "You have ships. Why not just fly them to Earth? Why waste your time with portals at all?"

"I do not want the humans to know we are coming. I am told that they have ways to alert them when something takes up orbit around their planet."

"So they do," Loki nods. "However, I am sure your ships have far more firepower than anything the humans have. They do not even possess ships, as far as I am aware, and so therefore they cannot be much of a threat to you – whether they know you're coming or not."

"They are no threat." Thanos says this as if pointing out some mildly interesting star cluster in his sky. "I don't want them to have even a _moment_ to prepare for this. That," he adds, "and I lack sufficient ships to carry my entire army."

"...ah."

"Do not fail me again."

Taking that as a dismissal, Loki nods. "When I get the portal from Muspelheim open, please do not delay your soldiers. I will need to keep as much magical energy free as possible."

With that, he lifts the staff, taps it on the ground, closes his eyes, and concentrates.

When next he opens his eyes, he is somewhere else.

xXx

Muspelheim is a place of fire.

It is a place on fire, too, as red-orange flames flicker up from the depths of immense pits, stretching into the distant sky as if to burn the horizon.

The air smells of ozone and ash and sulfur, a pungent, acrid combination that makes his eyes water, that makes his lungs burn, that makes his skin prickle.

Insufferable heat blankets him, and he finds himself grateful that his Asgardian form is not quite as susceptible to it as his Jotun form. He doesn't, at least, feel like he is going to roast alive: even temperatures that seem relatively cool to him in his Asgardian form have been far too warm to him otherwise.

He had put himself down near a temple that has been carved into the side of a craggy cliff face, well away from any traces of civilization. Half a dozen of the guards stand near the entrance, huge and red and muscled like the Hulk, lined three-by-three down the steps on either side of the door. There are at least half a dozen more inside the temple proper, who are even bigger than these, plus a handful of smaller fire-breathers.

Loki eases away and heads down to a large, secluded flat area just below the ledge on which the temple's steps were built. Lava flows a few hundred feet below, pits of roiling heat shooting up sparks and burbling tendrils of lava like the fingers of some superheated evil creature.

He can feel the sweat already rolling off of him, making his armor chafe and rub, but he pushes aside those discomforts and drives his staff onto the pale rock at his feet. Pulling in a deep, burning breath, he lifts his eyes to the scorched-red sky and searches out the trace of magic he'd left behind him.

Once he finds it, he closes his eyes and _reaches,_ as he'd been taught, and soon finds the energies aligning and a portal opening up between them: bright white, like the tears Mephisto created between dimensions, but far less volatile.

Thanos's soldiers pour through without even a moment's hesitation, and Loki is glad: it requires a tremendous amount of energy and effort to hold any sort of portal open, and even with the staff and its crystal to help him, his energy drains fast.

When he closes the portal, some of the energy he'd expended comes back to him – not much, but enough, he hopes, that he'll be able to unbind the magical locks protecting the Wizard's Eye.

He splits Thanos's soldiers into five groups of twenty, figuring four of the groups of twenty should be able to handle three of the guards, while the last should be able to handle the fire-breathers.

The first two groups of twenty race out of the flat and run straight for the guards by the temple's mouth. Soon, the air is filled with the sounds of metal ringing on metal, roars and screams, breaking bones.

Loki gathers the remaining troops and leads them on a wild charge through the mayhem. Though it appears Thanos's soldiers are no match for the guards – already half the soldiers are dead, while only two of the six guards have been brought down – he does not stop or slow to help them.

He and his sixty soldiers reach the temple's entrance just as half a dozen more of the enormous guards boil out from inside, huge and hulking, their skin scalded red, their eyes like misshapen lumps of black obsidian in troll-like faces. Their mouths are full of needle-sharp teeth

"Break off!" Loki barks at the two groups of twenty to his left. "Get them!"

While the soldiers wheel to comply, Loki charges up the temple's carved-rock stairs and and plunges into the dark, yawning mouth of a doorway ahead of him.

Where he promptly runs into a handful of the fire-breathers, these squat, ugly pink things that resemble mutated children, pot-bellied and thin-legged and hairless. Their eyes are filled with vicious fury, and they make hissing noises as they spit fireballs out of little slits beneath slashes of mouths.

Without even needing to be told, the last group of soldiers darts around Loki to charge them.

Loki darts past them and heads straight for The Eye, which he'd spotted just behind the row of fire-breathers.

The Wizard's Eye is a small red orb with a black core, sitting on a small black pillow in the middle of a round rock pedestal. Runes of some sort run up and down the sides of the rock, but Loki does not give them even a second look: he does not have time.

It appears to be a diminutive little thing, the orb, but it burns him when he touches it, and it refuses to budge from the pillow when he tries to move it.

When Loki closes his eyes – the sounds of screams and fires and clashing steel still ringing in his ears – he can _see _a magical dome keeping the Eye in place, binding both it and its magic into the rock. It's like a small, thin shell, smooth and complete.

Strong, too, for when he probes it with just a sliver of his own magical energy, it throws his energy back at him hard enough to drive him back a few steps.

Straightening, he casts a quick look behind him, and sees that Thanos's soldiers are surrounded by a loose ring the fire-breathers: perhaps eight of the small things, all spitting sparks and sending fire off the rock walls. A couple of the soldiers are smoldering flesh piles on the ground.

Loki grits his teeth and closes his eyes.

Magic really is just another form of energy, something that, Loki has always found, is more fluid and dynamic than light or heat energy. Magical energy, in the hands of one who knows what he is doing, can be bent and shaped in a near-infinite number of ways, ways that incorporate any and all other sorts of non-magical energy at once: a bright-frozen-sonic blast working in tandem, for example, to try to find the weaknesses in a magical binding where the actual key to the thing has been lost.

It's the same sort of thing that he'd felt back on Asgard, when he'd awoken to find his wrists on fire and his magic flared back alight in his mind: a residue of the sort of power he'd managed, in his sleep, to slip past the binders.

(Behind him, screams echo and bounce off the walls. But he does not look around.)

The shell fights him, hard, forcing him back step after step, until he's pressed back against a wall. Trying to find a flaw in it is like trying to find a handhold on a wall made of a single piece of smooth glass. His energy, magical fingers, slip and slide away.

But.

A shock of supercold magic and...

...there.

Loki grunts in satisfaction. The flaw in the shell. A tiny one, but something for him to chip away at.

An absent part of him registers that the volume of the screams in the room has gotten audibly lower.

Without any warning whatsoever, a small fireball smashes into his shoulder, throwing him back and shattering his concentration.

He cries out in pain, free hand lifting to beat at the flames licking into the side of his neck, scorching his cape and melting his armor. A reflexive burst of ice extinguishes it, and he swings around, bringing his scepter in a low, flat arc to fend off the two little fire-breathers advancing on him.

A cutting sweep of energy sends them flying back into the group still fighting the few standing soldiers.

Desperately, Loki turns and throws everything he can muster at the little crack in the Eye's shell.

And finally, _finally_, with a groan that sounds like the ground itself is crying out, the shell flies apart.

He lunges forward, hand wrapping around the Eye. And he cannot help but take a moment to marvel at how well it _fits_. It's as if it was something forged just for him. It has a heft to it, but it feels balanced in the palm of his hand. And as he stares down at it, it begins to glow: black to scarlet to blue to green.

Wild energy courses through him, raw and uncontrolled, and without sparing even a moment to consider his actions, he spins on his heel and lashes out with the full force of his newfound power.

The remaining remaining fire-breathers, the ones that had been bearing down on him, never stand a chance. They simply _cease_ as soon as the green energy touches them.

As do the remainder of Thanos's soldiers.

It is the same for the guards and soldiers he finds still alive outside the temple: they all fall at his merest _thought_, one lazy flick of a hand and a solid beam of energy that disintegrates everything it touches.

Loki laughs in something like surprised wonder.

Power in a heady rush, and suddenly he feels as if there are no limits – none at all – to what he will be able to do. Nothing to stop him, nothing to hold him back.

Standing on the top steps of the fire-shrouded temple, his shoulders squared and his cape thrown back and his helmeted head held high, Loki feels for the first time what it is like to not only have the power, but to truly _be_ a king.

He can _do_ and _take_ and _be_ anything.

He has neither equal nor master, nor does he need to bend a knee to anyone. Quite the contrary: it is the universe itself and all who dwell within who should fall to their knees before _him,_ for he is the son of kings and he was born to rule.

And, he thinks, summoning his power to him, it is about time Thanos becomes aware of that.

xXx

Loki never sees it coming.

In his power-blinded arrogance, he never once considers the possibility that Thanos might have been expecting something like this, and would consequently have several hundred soldiers poised and waiting for Loki's return.

That is precisely what happens.

The instant he touches back down in Thanos's command room, he is blindsided from behind: a blast of unseen magical energy barrels into him hard enough to drive him to the – blissfully cool – ground. A foot grinds down on the back of his neck. His helmet keeps his face from being smashed, but the strain on his neck is almost unbearable: much more pressure and it will snap. Another foot comes down on the hand holding the scepter and still another presses down on the other forearm.

He hears, rather than feels, the orb being kicked out of his suddenly nerveless fingers, and he growls in sudden, inarticulate rage.

"Where are my soldiers?" a voice thunders down at him.

"Dead," Loki sneers into the floor. "They were worthless."

The pressure eases on his neck for a moment, but only so his helmet can be ripped form his head. It nearly tears one of his ears off in the process, and Loki finds himself unable to do more than howl in pain as the foot comes back down on his jaw and begins to grind.

He can feel the Eye calling to him, but for the life of him he cannot fathom how to bring it to him.

"Return it to me!" he gasps. "_Now._"

"_No_," Thanos booms. "This will remain here until it is time for the invasion."

"Let me _g-ah!_" Blows rain down from above, blunt fists and feet landing on his back, his arms, the back of his head. At some point, he is hauled up by the scruff of his neck and there are more blows to his already raw and bloody face. His hands are bound behind him so that he cannot protect himself.

A runaway star slams into him between his eyes and drives him back down to his knees. Another catches him on the underside of his chin and he sprawls backward, boneless, dazed.

An enormous shadow-figure, doubled-blurry, moves to stand over him, a huge mountain that casts a shadow over everything.

"...stop," Loki says. "Please."

"You live only because I allow it," it says, its voice the heavy thud of boulders smashing against the side of stone castles. "Because I have use for you. But do not think for a moment, golding, that I will not hesitate to end you here and now. I can find another sorcerer to open my portals."

Even through the red-curtained pain-haze, Loki can sense a bluff.

"...you won't," he whispers. It takes some effort. When he swallows, he tastes blood, salty and coppery and enough to make his stomach clench. "You need me. I can help you."

Thanos, the shadow-figure, draws away. "Even now you do not know your place," he says. "If you live at the end of this, godling, perhaps I will teach you proper respect."

"...yes." Obeisant, cowed, as if he had not just transported himself to this place to do that very thing to Thanos.

_As if I will not once the Eye is mine again_.

That sweet power, unlimited and unending.

Something he wants, _craves_, but ultimately something he imagines he can wait for.

"The object will remain here until it is time for the invasion to begin. I am awaiting but a few more ships. They will arrive in six days' time. That should give you sufficient time to prepare yourself. Return to me then."

"Yes. Yes, I will."

Thanos leaves Loki's sight altogether and Loki pats the ground beside him until he finds the staff.

He is aware that he is surrounded, and he is careful, as he drags himself into a seated position, not to make any sudden or threatening moves. He lays the staff over his lap, closes his eyes, and takes himself away.

xXx

When he arrives back at his hiding place, he finds he does not even have the energy to stand. He simply collapses backward onto the floor, two steps away from the bed, and lets his eyes drift shut.

Sleep takes him under almost instantly.

His sleep is black and dreamless, at first, his exhausted mind too numb to do anything but shut itself down so that his magic can begin to repair the damage to his body.

At some point, perhaps a day later, perhaps two, he awakens stiff and aching and shivering, and manages to summon the energy to strip away the armor, crawl through a shower, and totter back to bed on legs that feel as steady as blades of grass.

He collapses on his mattress and drifts back away.

This time, however:

_He is on a snow-plane._

_No._

_He is on the burning Asgard pyre._

_No._

_He is on Earth._

_No._

_It does not matter where he is._

What_ he is – _what_ – is what matters: he is chaos and fire and ice and death. He is destruction, malicious and wanton destruction. He is power, unharnessed and unbridled, running wild on this world, that world, every world._

_A river of blood._

_A sea of ash and bones._

_A field of bodies frozen in white._

_His enemies, his victims, those would-be heroes, their bones ground to dust beneath his feet. All their deaths on his hands and himself nowhere, somewhere, anywhere laughing and laughing while the world burns – freezes, collapses – all around him. And all knees bend and all heads bow and he is a god and alive and it is glorious._

_Here, the Asgardians: Odin eyeless and Thor headless beside him. Here, the Jotuns, their monsters' bodies frozen over and indistinguishable from the ice. There, the humans: the Hulk a green smear on a white wall, Captain America a blue one, and Stark..._

_Stark is a red and gold one._

_It does not matter where._

_He will destroy them all._

xXx

"_No!_"

A strangled cry in the dark, and Loki once again tears himself from the dream.

His body is on _fire_, aching from his scalp to the soles of his feet in a way his healing energy cannot touch. The scars on his wrists are the worst of all, thick, inflamed bands that radiate pain from his elbows to his fingertips.

It begins to recede after a moment, a storm tide pulling back away from the shore, and he sags back onto his pillow, breathing out.

_Why_, he thinks, raising a shaking hand to his face. _Why, why, why_?

The same thing, over and over, so much death and destruction, and _why him_? Why is it this over and over again? Why must it all be death and destruction? Why can he not stand as a victor without breaking everything apart?

_Why_?

But in some distant, dark corner of his mind, however, even as his mind recoils from the gruesomeness he has just seen, he wonders why not.

Horrifying or not, terrible or not, the dreams all show him the same thing: himself with a power none can match. Himself the victor. All he would have to do is embrace his chaos as he never has before, to fully let go of fear and doubt and remorse and _hope_, and he would have that power.

The cost of is far too high, but...

_But_.

..._how sweet it could be_,_ all that power._

The Eye had showed him, hadn't it? Given him a small taste of how it could be?

He could show them all.

"...no," he mutters, hands balling into fists. "_No_."

The cost is too high, and that is that.

Angry all of a sudden, frustrated beyond reason, he levers his aching body out of the bed. He is still exhausted and just barely begun to heal, but he knows he will not be able to find sleep again this night, not with sudden fury at Thanos sparking alight and the dream-images haunting the dark corners of his mind.

He limps out into his kitchen, where he proceeds to wolf down his first meal in at least two – three? – days. As he eats, he stretches out with magic that feels stronger than he expected and finds the unique energy signature that belongs to an arc reactor and a human-

– _a_ _red and gold smear, how terrible – _

-that he has not seen in some time.

A human whose company would be welcome a night like tonight.

Steadier for the food, Loki dresses himself in dark pants and a dark shirt, glancing out his window as he does. It is dusk, he finds, the last of the daylight orange fading into the night's indigo canvas, as he leaves his hiding place and appears on the balcony outside of Stark's penthouse.

Stark, when he opens the balcony door, raises eyebrows at the sight of Loki, and Loki doesn't wonder. He had seen his reflection in his mirror before he left, had seen the riot of barely-healed bruises and cuts and burns on his face.

However, Stark, whose own face is a mass of bruises and cuts and whose eyes are fatigue-ringed and burning like a couple of dark furnaces, does not say a word.

He simply gestures at the couch with his glass, a sloppy flick of a motion that could just as easily mean 'get out' as 'sit down,' and ghosts over to the bar.

Loki does not speak as takes a seat and watches Stark pour a generous amount of alcohol into an empty glass. Stark's hands are clumsy. Liquid sloshes onto the bar, but if he notices, if he cares, it does not show.

Stark tops off his own glass and brings them both over to the couch. Sighing, he sinks down beside Loki, close enough that their upper arms are pressed together, and he lets his head fall back so that he is glaring up at the ceiling. His cheek is mere inches away from Loki's shoulder.

Wordlessly, Loki takes a long, slow drink. Midgardian alcohol is less potent than Asgardian alcohol, but he decides he decides it will do.

Exhaling, he, too, leans back, tilting his head so his cheek just brushes Stark's temple. Stark leans into him, firming the contact, and at that Loki feels just a little of his anger drain away.

They simply sit, the two of them, in a silence that is neither comforting nor uncomfortable.

Stewing in their respective miseries is all they're doing, really.

But it's enough.

For now, it's enough.

xXx

_Light shines in the darkness  
__I don't want to go  
__Wish I could turn back time  
__Oh, my guardian angel  
__Take me away from here  
__I think I'm ready now  
__I still can't make up my mind  
_-Riverside, "The Curtain Falls"

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	13. I'm coming back, I'm falling through

12. **"I'm comin' back, I'm fallin' through. Another day, I feel the same. I'm cutting and I'm bleeding here with you."**

It's no easier this time, Tony finds, saying goodbye to Pepper.

It's worse, honestly, because last time he was just letting her go. Rationally, he'd known she was going on to bigger and better things, that she was going to live the life she always should have lived, even if it wasn't the life he wanted for her. He figured she'd at least have a chance to be happy.

This time, he's just sending her away to keep her the hell out of the line of fire.

It was close today.

Way too fucking close.

Close enough that he's hunched over a glass of whiskey, staring out into a cloudless night sky and hoping to hell S.H.I.E.L.D. can keep her safe.

He's on his second or third drink when JARVIS informs him he has "a guest" on the balcony.

The only surprising thing about that, Tony thinks, is that JARVIS called Loki a guest at all. Better that, he guesses, than "an intruder," even if "guest" implies some kind of welcome – which isn't really applicable tonight, not tonight, not when his thoughts are sticking together like wads of wet dough and he feels like he's looking at everything through a layer of gauze.

Not tonight, when all he wants to do is sink down into the bottom of his bottle and stay there while everything just crumbles around him.

Yeah, yeah, some part of him thinks maybe it's a good thing Loki showed up tonight, if only because he'll be a distraction, but, as he crosses the room to open the balcony door, the rest of him is trying to come up with the some way to say 'Sorry, can't do this tonight, come back again' that won't get him thrown off the balcony.

Thing is, though, when Tony opens the door and sees Loki, all those words and all those thoughts, they just go sliding right out of his head.

Loki, whose face is a pulpy mass of bruises and cuts and blistered burns, most of it just barely healed, looks every bit as fucked-over and beaten-down and pissed off as Tony feels. His eyes, normally glittering bright with mischief and madness, are weary-dull but full of what looks like smoldering fury: banked coals that appear cool but that are hot enough to scorch steel.

Tony gets it, he does, and because he gets it, he just gestures for Loki to come inside, to go sit down. He pushes a drink into Loki's hand and sits down beside him, close as he can get, because, well, why not? Misery loves company, and right now the two of them are a pair to draw to.

Comfort or commiseration, Tony isn't sure – and doesn't really care – which it is, but it helps just the same, a little, leaning like this.

xXx

The thing is, the week doesn't start off badly.

Tony isn't there when it happens, but Bruce makes his apology to Clint, which Clint, armed with Steve's explanation about the radiation, is willing – grudgingly – to accept.

"He still looked pretty constipated about it," Steve says. Which, okay, the actual word he used was 'bothered,' but Tony knows Clint well enough to know the exact look Steve's describing. "But at least he and Tasha both are willing to forgive."

The next day, the entire team, along with Pepper and Cecil Wilkes, gathers – _assembles, heh _– in Clint's hospital room. It's large enough for all of them to fit, even with nurses flitting in and out every so often. There are glares, at first, but Steve turns on the charm and convinces the nurse that nobody is going to do anything to wind Clint up. He's smooth about it, using his best sunlight-can't-rival-how-warm-this-smile-is smile and the words "you have my word," and the nurse, a pretty young thing that Tony himself might have picked up once upon a time, blushes and nods and tells them that as long as it's quiet and as long as they don't jostle the patient, it's okay.

Tony, perched backward on a chair at the foot of the bed, trades amused glances with Bruce, who's looking on from near the window.

A solid day's rest has done wonders for the good doctor: there's still a kind of lingering shadow in his eyes, some holdover guilt, but he's been smiling more, even joking in his understated way. He doesn't flinch when Tasha or Clint glance his way, either, which for Tony's money is probably the best sign of all.

Clint, too, looks a little better. More alert, anyway, and less glass-eyed, for all that he's a complete mess. His right arm is encased in casts from about midway up his bicep down to his hand. Even his fingers are splinted. Most of his shoulder is covered with a white bandage, and what little is visible is bruised.

Beyond that, his left eye is swollen shut, his jaw is bruised, and his left hand is wrapped to close down a hole where a jagged chunk of wood tore right through it.

There hasn't been a prognosis on the shoulder yet, Tasha tells them, but the doctors have said they think things are at least stable enough that he'll be able to start moving around here soon, and maybe leave a few days after that if everything holds together.

"I can sort of feel my hand," Clint tells them, his voice a dull rasp. "It's all tingly. But it's better 'n it was when I got here. I couldn't feel it at all. Progress, I guess."

"Progress is good," Steve says, still smiling away.

He's standing soldier-straight between Pepper and Thor, on Clint's left. Tasha is seated at the other side of the bed, her chair none-too-subtly between Bruce, who's behind her, and Clint. Cecil Wilkes is hovering somewhere between Tony and Tasha, arms folded across his chest: a polar bear trying not to stand out in a group of black bears.

Clint, who's propped up, glances down at Tony and says, "So, it's your party. What's up?"

Tony finds he's not really in the mood for smalltalk anyway, so it's pretty much all business from that point on. North meets south and east meets west as he brings everybody up to speed on pretty much everything – from his being set up to the stolen blueprints for his arc reactor to the problems with Bruce and the radiation, he just kind of lets it all come out.

It's not that they need to know about the bullshit going on with his company, but finally letting them know just how big that fucking anvil he's had hanging over his head has gotten is kind of a relief.

For the most part, they just listen. He can see Steve doing the wounded puppy eyes thing, like _How could you not tell me all this?_ _We're friends, aren't we? _

He ignores that, and instead starts to stress that none of it is connected – because, as far as he can tell, it isn't. Which is precisely the point when Tasha interrupts him.

"I wouldn't be so quick to say that," she says. And if anybody's going to see connections, Tony thinks, it'll be her. "All of these things happening at once… It might not be a coincidence."

"The radiation things affected Bruce, not me," Tony points out. "I mean, yes, it was weird they were in the penthouse-"

"-but there were also some in Central Park and a few other places around town," Steve finishes for him. "I think last count S.H.I.E.L.D. had was twenty-five. But Tasha's right. I'm not sure we can discount all this being related somehow."

Bruce, still leaning against the window, says quietly, "You know, I could have sworn I saw Loki the other day. Any chance he's connected to this?"

"It is doubtful," Thor puts in. "Loki prefers more direct mischief."

Tony starts to disagree, but thinks better about it and ends up saying nothing. Unlike Thor, Tony thinks Loki is perfectly capable of pulling something like this, given enough time and enough resources; like Thor, though, Tony doubts Loki is actually involved, because he likely does not have those resources at hand.

"But he _was _there, wasn't he?" Bruce is all lowered eyebrows, and a faraway gaze. "I swear I saw him right before I got knocked out. He was – shooting me with ice, I think. Or something. I'm sure of it."

"He was there, yes," Thor says. "He shot you with ice after you attempted to strangle him. That is when I hit you with Mjolnir." He glances at Tony. "I did not see what happened before that, nor do I know how he came to be there."

"Yeah," Tony puts in. It's all he can do not to wince. "Me neither. He kind of took off before we could ask. Oh, but I think we have a way to slow him down: looked like the same radiation that screwed with Hulk also screwed with his magic." He shifts, rubs the back of his neck, does his best not to notice the tense, awkward silence that seems to have ballooned into all the empty spaces. "Anyway, Tasha, would you be willing to do a little, ah, inside investigating?"

She has this stubborn set to her jaw and a flinty hardness in her eyes like she wants to push the connection thing and/or the Loki thing, but she just shakes her head and says, quietly, "What'd you have in mind?"

"OsCorp. Couple things I want to know: one, whether or not they had anything to do with manufacturing the radiation-thingies, and two, who the hell my blueprints got sold to. I'm pretty sure Osborn knows-"

"He does," Cecil says. "But good luck gettin' anywhere. I've been chasing my tail with that since I started looking. He's got that information under lock and key."

"Tony, I think I have a way to get her in," Pepper says just then. She's rubbing her forearms like she's cold, and in her skirt and light blouse, she looks just as out of place as Cecil. "Dallas. When I told him you didn't fire him, he was pretty upset. He said he really liked working for you. I think we might be able to use him to get Natasha through the door, if you wanted."

Tony studies her for a beat, thinking. "We'll see. But – do you think he was pissed off enough when he got fired that he would have maybe told somebody how to get around my security system?"

"It's possible," Pepper allows. "I could ask."

"I should be there when you do," Tasha says.

Pepper frowns at Tasha, but Tony says, "She's very good at knowing when people are lying."

"That," Tasha adds with a shrug, "and I'll know if we can trust him to get me in. I can do it without him, but if he's in and he knows the way around, it'll make things faster."

"I don't know how much help he can be," Tony says, "but, sure, give it a shot. I'll give you a list of all the radioactive materials I found, plus the casing, and we'll see if you can match it to anything inside." He glances over at Cecil. "I'll give you the same. I had JARVIS search the system at Stark Industries, but nothing came up. If anybody inside did it, it was probably off the books."

"You're thinking Andrews again?" Cecil guesses. "Busy guy."

"I'll know more when I've had a chance to talk to him," Tony says.

"Well, you'll have to wait a few days, unless you're planning to hitch a ride out to Dubai," Cecil says. "He's at some energy conference. Be back sometime next week."

Tony's knee-jerk reaction is to jump on his airplane, but after a quick second thought and a quick scan of all the eyes – watching and waiting – in the room, he changes his mind and says instead, "I'll wait. It'll give us time to gather as much evidence as we can. Plus, if anything else comes up in the meantime..."

"Better if we're all around," Steve finishes for him. He glances over at Tasha. "Would you mind taking Thor along with you? I know you can look after yourself, but I don't feel right about sending you and Pepper off by yourselves."

"Because we're women?" Tasha asks, a dangerous edge in her voice: the oversharpened edge of a razorblade, poised to slice.

Steve shakes his head like he's trying to flick water out of his hair. "That isn't it at all! I just said I know you can take care of yourself. It's just that with all this...weird stuff happening lately, I don't feel right about _anybody_ working alone. The same goes for Tony, me, Thor, even Hulk. Okay?"

"That's all right, then," Tasha finally says. "Thor can come, if he wants."

Thor nods. "It would be my honor to assist you."

"Okay, good," Steve says. He turns to Tony. "What does that leave for the rest of us?"

"Lab work," Tony says. "I want to try to work on this radiation thing, see if we can figure out a way to protect ourselves from Loki. See if we can find a way to use it without tripping Hulk's trigger." He glances around at Bruce. "You up for playing guinea pig?"

Bruce's face says _fuck no_, but what his mouth says is, "If it means stopping Loki, then, sure."

"We'll need you to be on stand-by," Tony tells Steve. "Be ready with that sedative. And, uh, you know, ready just in case some innocent pillow or, you know, resident God of Thunder is about to be molest-"

"Hey!" Steve yelps, as Bruce says, "Don't you _dare_!" and Thor rumbles, "That is _not _necessary," and Clint cackles merrily, merrily, merrily underneath it all.

xXx

Dallas agrees to meet with Pepper and Tasha the next morning.

It comes as something less than a complete surprise to Tony, though, when Pepper calls him that morning to tell him that City in Texas didn't show up for the meeting.

xXx

Tasha and Thor find Dallas's car still parked at his apartment building.

One of Dallas's neighbors remembers seeing Dallas come home that night, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Nobody saw him leave.

They find a cell phone and a laptop in the apartment, but Tasha says they're wiped clean.

She grabs them both anyway, and brings them to Tony, who, with JARVIS's help, is able to determine that they're actually replacements: the hard drive in the laptop is brand new, and the cell phone has no contacts or call history on it whatsoever.

They're able to find Dallas's paperwork on the Stark Industries servers, and Pepper makes a discreet phone call to the emergency contact number Dallas left. His mother's, who says she'd just talked to him the night before, around eight, and that he'd sounded upbeat and chipper. She says she has no other numbers for him and can't think of anywhere he might be.

Pepper tells her to get in touch with the police.

But beyond that, it's a brick wall.

Dead end, Tony thinks, shuddering.

xXx

They're all a little uneasy about the kid's disappearance, but they decide to go ahead with the plans to get into OSCORP, so the following day Thor and Tasha make the first of two trips into the main office.

It's a recon trip, with the two of them posing as a married couple taking a tour of the facility.

When they return four hours later, Tasha already has a plan in place.

Early the next morning, she and Thor head in. Steve and Tony, both in their respective armor, wait on a nearby rooftop, with a calm and quiet Bruce.

Steve and Tony both had offered to go in, but Tasha had insisted that they'd just slow her down.

Probably would have, because she and Thor are in and out in maybe forty-five minutes – long enough for them to get in, get into the server room, and create a backdoor into the system that they can access through JARVIS.

No alarms go off, no security comes down on them, nothing unduly weird happens.

Once upon a time, Tony might have found that kind of disappointing.

Now, however, it's a relief.

xXx

Trouble is, they can get onto the OSCORP servers, but everything on there is encrypted.

It's not just one layer: it's at least eight layers of encryption.

_At least_.

JARVIS says, "Without the keys, sir, if I were to run at full computational capacity for twenty-four hours a day, it would take me roughly five hundred million years to crack that encryption."

They're down in the mansion's lab, and Tasha, seated in front of one of the computers, glances up and says, "We don't need to break the encryption. We just need a user ID and password. I can hack it from there." She pauses, though, frowning. "Can you show me the encryption scheme they use, JARVIS?"

A whole bunch of letters and symbols – gibberish to Tony – scroll across the screen.

Tasha frowns at them, her fingers hovering over the keys.

"What is it?" Tony asks.

"I don't know," she says. "This looks...familiar, somehow. Maybe. I don't know. I just – I need to dig into it."

Tony nods. Her posture is saying she wants to be left alone, and Tony can take a hint. "I'll leave you to it, then."

xXx

The next day is relatively quiet: Tasha and Cecil are both busy working on their respective problems, but without much progress, and there's still no word on the kid.

Tony spends his day in the lab with Bruce and Steve, trying to solve the radiation problem. They stick Bruce in the fish tank in the afternoon when Tony's ready to test his shielding, and things go okay for a first test. Not great – Bruce has a Hulk freakout after maybe twenty minutes, and doesn't calm down for almost an hour – but it's a start.

It's one of those smooth, calm days that Tony has come to dread: they're the kind of days that come right before things blow up.

And, of course, they do.

Literally.

xXx

That evening, Cecil Wilkes calls Tony to let him know that Tom Andrews is supposed to be back in the office in the morning. Cecil offers to drive Tony in, and Tony, remembering Steve's words about not rushing off to do things alone, agrees to let him.

Tony doesn't sleep much that night.

He spends most of the night awake staring up at the harsh, rough light-circle his arc reactor kicks up onto the ceiling, thinking about everything he wants to say, playing out every possible scenario in his head like so many moves on a giant chessboard, second- and third-guessing everything he has for evidence until he's tied himself into one giant knot.

Problem is, all the evidence they have is what Pepper and Cecil got illegally. Cecil hadn't found anything else that they could legitimately tie in.

Tony guesses it'll have to do.

And he'd met with his lawyer earlier, which had actually helped set his mind at ease: there was a limit to what the board could and couldn't do to him. At the end of the day, no matter what, he was still the majority shareholder, which meant even without the CEO title, he still had plenty of clout.

If push came to shove, he had the stick to cripple the company.

He doesn't want it to come to that, of course, doesn't want to destroy his own company for God's sake, but he finds he's tired of getting screwed over.

And that's the attitude he carries with him when he climbs into the SUV the next morning.

Cecil's in the driver's seat: gray and grim as his suit, big hands tight on the wheel.

Pepper is the back seat: a slim presence in a dark skirt, white blouse, and matching dark jacket. She has her hair pulled back. Her eyes are sparkling and her cheeks are flushed.

Like she thinks this is _exciting_, and Tony can't help frowning at her. He's calm enough himself, outwardly, but his palms are sweating – he's had to wipe them off a few times on his suit trousers – and his foot hasn't stopped tapping against the back of the passenger's seat, and his heartbeat feels a little irregular behind the arc reactor, too fast then too slow then too fast again.

When she sees his frown, Pepper just lifts her chin, a silent challenge in her eyes.

He says, "Don't you have a job, Pep? A fiancé?"

_Anything better to do than this?_

She says, "I took some personal time away from the job, and my fiancé is in Boston for the week. I wanted to be here."

"You're waiting in the car," he tells her. "Both of you." He taps his ear. "My 'comm will be open, so you should be able to listen in."

Twenty minutes later, papers in hand, Tony leaves them behind and heads up to Tom Andrews' office.

Andrews' secretary – Eloise? Martha? Bertha? – bleats at him that Mr. Andrews is on a call, that he isn't to be disturbed under any circumstance. Tony ignores her threats to call security and blows right on past her. He shoves Andrews' office door open with a little flourish, shuts it behind him, and leans against it, arms folded, grinning.

Tom Andrews is smaller than Tony, a narrow-faced, harried-looking man with thinning brown hair and shrewd gray accountant's eyes tucked behind a pair of thick-framed glasses. He's sharp in a take-no-prisoners kind of way, which Tony has always respected. He's also unlikeable as hell: that smart kid in high school who thought he was better than everyone else, and went out of his way to make sure everybody knew it.

The look he shoots Tony is a weak version of the molten-hot glares Tony's used to receiving from Pepper and, lately, Tasha, so it slides right off him.

Andrews mouth thins and he shakes his head. "Norman," he says into the phone he has wedged against his ear, "sorry to cut you off, but I'll have to call you back. Mr. Stark is here to see me. Apparently we have a meeting today. I'll get back to you as soon as I'm done here."

He sets the phone back in the cradle and frowns up at Tony. "Well, this is an unexpected pleasure," he says in a tone that suggests it's anything but. "Come in. Have a seat."

Andrews' office is all sleek lines, cool steel and frosted glass , and Tony feels a little like he's gliding when he walks across the shining tiled floors to sit down in one of the black leather chairs.

"So!" Andrews says, lacing his hands together on his desktop. "How's the vacation?"

"Busier than I'd like," Tony says. "How's the CEO life?"

"Busy, too. What brings you by?"

Tony feels a sharp little smirk work its way out. Battle-coolness settles over him, and his nerves are suddenly rock-steady. He slouches back, crosses an ankle over his knee, and sets the file folder on top of it. "So you've been busy, huh?" he says. "I can imagine. I mean, it takes a lot of work to run a company. Especially when you have to, ah, push the current CEO out of the way so you can get there."

Slow blink, and: "I'm sorry?"

"Gotta say, I'm hurt, Tom. I am. You going behind my back like this. Stealing from me. Setting me up. After everything I did for you. Talk about a slap in the face."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I can prove it."

Andrews' shrug is nothing more than an up-and-down quirk of eyebrows. "What can you prove, exactly, Tony? What do you think I did?"

"I don't _think_ you did anything," Tony says. "I _know_ you hired the girl and the guy who looked a little like me. I know you arranged everything so I'd get pushed aside, so you could slide right in there and get your hands on the latest and greatest arc reactor blueprints."

"Why would I need to do that? I already work for the company that sells them."

Tony pulls a sheet of paper out of the file, sets it down on the desktop, and slides it across. "Because somebody paid you a lot of money to."

Andrews picks up the paper, frowns down at it. "These are my bank statements," he says. "How the hell did you get these?"

"Oh, I have my ways."

"You mean Wilkes." An annoyed huff, and, "Well, he's fired. And you do realize how much trouble you'll both be in for stealing my private information, don't you? If I turn you both in, that's prison time."

Tony scoffs. He knows an empty threat when he hears one. "You won't turn us in," he says. "You can't, not without this blowing up in your face. Even if you manage to take us down, you'll be going down with us. I guarantee it. That's all the proof we need."

"Your so-called _proof_," Andrews says quietly, "will come back on _you_, not me, since you and Mr. Wilkes obtained it illegally." He leans back and steeples his fingers under his chin. "You're pissed off because you got forced out. So you run off and you make this little plan to get back at me. Just when I thought you couldn't get any more reckless, you go and pull a stunt like this. What the hell are you thinking?"

"Reckless."

"Considering your future role in this company is at stake, yeah."

Tony's hand clenches. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a statement of fact. You have no idea – _none –_ how much you stand to lose if you don't drop this."

"Oh, you mean you're going to take my company away from me?" Tony folds his arms across his chest. Anger begins to slow-burn through him: a match touched to a long trail of gun powder. "Here's the thing: this is still my company. You and the board, you can push me out as CEO, but I have two things you _can't_ take away from me: I'm the majority stakeholder of the company – by a lot. I also happen to personally hold the patents to more than half of the products we make. That includes every version of the arc reactor.

"So, yeah, you can kick me off the board and stop me from being CEO, but you do that and you'd better be prepared for the fight you'll have on your hands. And, believe me, I will torpedo this company and start over again if I have to. Don't think I won't." Tony stands, leans over the desk, and says, channeling Loki at his frosty nastiest, "And don't think for a second I won't come after you. I will tear you apart. _Do not_ threaten me again."

Andrews, his eyes saucer-round behind his glasses, swallows and leans back in his chair. "I-"

"You set me up," Tony says over him. "You humiliated me in front of the board. You stole from me. Maybe I can't prove it yet, not legally, but it's just a matter of time. You tell me who you sold those plans to, you resign effective immediately, and you convince the board to let me end my 'vacation' early, and maybe I won't go public when I get all the evidence together. Otherwise…"

Something flickers in Andrews' eyes, a snake uncoiling. "So you're threatening me now, is that it?"

"Yeah. Turns out it's easy to do when you're in the right."

"You need to leave."

"Not until-"

"I have nothing more to say to you. Now go."

"Dammit, Tom-"

"_Go_, I said." Andrews reaches into his desk and pulls out a file folder, which he tosses across the desk. "Go, before I decide to hand these off to your buddy at the _Times_."

Warily, Tony picks up the file and opens it. Inside are maybe half a dozen photos of Tony – someone who looks like Tony, hard to tell, the face isn't shown in full – wrapped around some young-looking brown-haired woman he has no recollection whatsoever of meeting.

_Very_ young-looking.

_Childlike_, even.

"What the hell is this?" Tony asks, the words dropping like stones.

Andrews' mouth is a hard line. "This is what gets you sent to jail if you don't let this go. She's fifteen."

A sick, hard knot in Tony's stomach, because, _fuck_, this is a low blow. "That isn't me."

"It doesn't matter. The young lady in the picture is prepared to testify that you pressured her to have sex with you, and then bullied her into keeping her mouth shut." Andrews sounds like he's biting into a lemon as he says this: more unhappy and resigned than threatening. "You'll lose the company and you'll go to jail." Frowning, he leans forward to lace his hands together on the blotter. "Tony, please, for your sake and mine – for _all of our sakes_ – let this go."

_For all of our sakes._

Andrews holds his gaze for a long moment. Lowers his head. Scratches his ear.

Tony grinds his teeth together and nods, once, a quick upward head-jerk. Glares at nothing in particular. "I'm supposed to sit by and let you just walk out the door with proprietary company information."

"You're supposed to be off saving the world or developing the next big thing for Stark Industries or whatever you want. You're supposed to be focusing on anything _but_ what's going on here. So go do that. Don't interfere."

_Please_.

"Right," Tony mutters.

"I mean it, by the way," Andrews says. He cards fingers through his thinning hair. It's a fretful, weary gesture, one that ages him by ten years. "Wilkes is done. Gone. If I hear even a rumor that he's set foot on any company property or if I find any more of my personal information has been accessed, I'll have him arrested."

Tony rises and turns away. "That noose is gonna strangle you one of these days," he says on his way to the door. "And don't you think for a second you're going to walk away from this when all is said and done."

"We'll see," Andrews says. "Don't forget your 'evidence.'"

"Keep it," Tony says, waving him off.

"I don't want it."

Sound of paper crumpling, and a wadded-up paper ball lands at his feet. "Take it anyway," Andrews says tersely. "Your garbage doesn't belong in my office.

Tony grabs the ball and shoves it into his pocket as he walks out.

xXx

The black SUV is waiting right where he'd left it. As he slides into the back seat, Pepper and Cecil look at him expectantly. He shakes his head and says, "It's not him." Dipping back into his pocket, he retrieves the paper and smooths it out.

He finds what he's looking for about two-thirds of the way down: two very faint words:_ Family. Sorry_.

"Figures," he mutters, pointing the words out to Pepper. "I think he's being set up just as much as I am. Looks like whoever's behind it has his family."

"Well, fuck me," Cecil mutters as he pulls away from the curb. He casts a quick glance at Pepper in the rear view mirror. "Sorry."

Pepper ignores him. Her attention is on Tony. "Any idea who 'they' are?"

"No," Tony admits. "When I pushed him, he-"

"_SHIT!_" Cecil yells.

And that's all the warning they get.

Tony doesn't even see what happens. All he knows is something slams into his side of the SUV, and he's not wearing his seatbelt so he's flung forward into the back of the passenger seat. He has enough time to get his hands up and his shoulder around to absorb the worst of it, but still ends up smacking the side of his head against the headrest hard enough to ring his bell.

He ends up wedged behind the passenger seat, half on the floorboard and half on the backseat, legs folded under him in at awkward angles.

The SUV stops dead when it thumps into something in front of it.

Tony looks up and sees, to his relief, that Pepper _is_ belted in, and, though she's white-faced and her hands are trembling, she doesn't appear to be hurt. Her eyes are huge, though, and floating in her face when she turns his way.

She paws her seatbelt off and reaches over to help Tony up. "You okay?" she asks.

"I think so," he says. "What-?"

Pepper's door is ripped open just then and some guy dressed in all black grabs wraps an arm around her chest and yanks her away. Before Tony can even reach for her, the window behind him explodes inward and a vice-like pair of arms seizes him from behind. He's dragged backward through the window, flailing and lashing out and snarling like some rabid animal as jagged bits of glass shred his suit jacket and bite into his hands.

He can hear Pepper screaming on the other side of the SUV, but he's thrown to the ground face-first. His cheek stings as rocks and bits of glass open up shallow cuts. Something smashes into his kidneys just then with the approximate force of sledgehammer, and the pain is _monstrous_. His stomach clenches with sudden, violent nausea.

Another blow against his ribs. Nothing breaks, but it drives the air out of his lungs.

He can't breathe.

Can't think.

Can't _move_.

After what feels like an eternity, however, his lungs finally unlock and he manages to gulp down a huge breath, a great, wheezing gasp that burns like fire going down but is still sweet.

He concentrates on breathing in and out for a few seconds.

Becomes aware, at some point, that there are scuffling sounds and sirens blaring and...

...roaring?

He pushes to his hands and knees and, finding the sidewalk around him empty, staggers to his feet. Over the SUV's crumpled hood he sees Hulk and Captain America in the middle of the street, the pair of them going to town on the would-be assailants. A short way down the block, behind a semi that is blocking every lane of traffic, there's a half-dozen cop cars and a couple fire trucks.

Pepper's at the driver's side door trying to help Cecil, who appears to be pinned in the driver's seat by the dashboard, which appears to have shifted back almost a foot – along with the rest of the SUV's front end.

She glances up and catches Tony's eye. "He's stuck," she says. "Help me."

But Tony barely hears her.

One of the black-masked, black-clad men has broken away from the fighting and has begun to make a slow, drunken lunge toward her. The knife he's got in his fist glitters like a jewel in the sun.

Tony yells, "Pepper, watch out!"

Everything slows down, time stretching out like a rubber band, and even as he gathers himself to make the short run, Tony knows he's going to be too late.

But Cap isn't.

Cap somehow just appears between the attacker and Pepper. He sweeps her out of the way with one hand and swings his shield around with the other. There's a sick crack of bone and a spray of blood, and the attacker drops like a sack of cement.

Out in the street, Hulk roars and knocks the last standing attacker down.

The attacker flies into the side of a black semi hard enough to dent the metal. He lands on his face, crawls to his knees, and reaches for something in his pocket. From where Tony's standing it looks kind of like a pen or something, but he hits it on the ground and there's this loud beep.

Tony exchanges wide-eyed looks with Steve and-

The fucking semi, parked not even a quarter-block away, _explodes_.

This huge fucking fireball just boils out from the back of the truck, bright orange and black like some Halloween demon screaming to life. The sheer force of it knocks Hulk backward onto some cars. Steve drops over Pepper, his shield thrown up to protect the pair of them from the shrapnel that rains down. The ruined SUV protects Tony from the worst of it, but a chunk of concrete bounces off his forehead hard enough to open up a gash right above his eyebrow.

Dazed, ears ringing, he ducks down behind the SUV until the damn sky stops falling.

When he looks over the hood again, he sees Hulk getting up. The big guy's got this I-wanna-murder-something expression on his face, and Tony's suddenly glad he's got the SUV to hide behind.

Cap, meanwhile, climbs to his feet and helps Pepper up. He looks down at her and says in tones of earnest concern, "Are you okay, Miss Potts?"

She's staring up at him, big-eyed and stunned. "Yeah. I'm all right."

"So am I," Tony calls over. "Thanks for asking."

They ignore him until he raps a sharp fist on the roof. Steve jumps and looks around.

Tony points at Cecil, who's still trapped in the driver's seat. "We need to get him out of there."

Cecil, who's conscious, is wincing like he's in some serious pain. His face is whiter than his shirt.

Cap turns and calls, "Hulk! Hulk, we need you! He's trapped in here! Help me get him out."

Hulk nods and stomps over to the SUV. One massive hand slams down onto the passenger's side of the roof, punches through, and he peels the damned thing off like he's just peeling the lid off a tin of sardines. He flings it behind him, and then reaches in to rip the dashboard away from Cecil's legs.

That done, he scoops Cecil up and carries him, not-quite-gently off toward the line of police cars.

Tony notices for the first time that some of the police cars hadn't survived the blast. Three of them are still on fire, while a couple others have been flipped onto their backs. They look like stranded turtles.

There are a couple of officers down near the semi's still-flaming wreckage.

All six attackers are down, too. None of them are moving.

_What a day..._

He leans on the SUV's rumpled and ruined hood and looks at Steve again. "Where did you come from, anyway?" he asks, and if it comes out a little more sharply than he'd meant it to, well, that's just because Steve's got this totally zoned-out look on his face, like he's not seeing anything except Pepper.

She's kind of staring back at him again, too, which...

_...you gotta be kidding me_.

"Hey!" Tony snaps. "Earth to Cap! I asked you a question."

"Huh?" Steve wrenches his gaze away from Pepper, blinks a few times like he's just been woken up, and glances over at Tony. "Oh. Um, Tasha thought you might need some backup. She had a hunch. Did you know you're bleeding?"

"I'm fine," Tony says. "Just a few scratches. Did she find anything?"

"She hasn't, not that she's said," Steve says. "She just – she thought if whoever's behind all this knew you'd gone after Andrews, they'd come after you."

"Well," Pepper says, smiling faintly at Steve, "it's good that she did. Thank you."

Steve smiles back, and does this dorky aw-shucks little head-bob. "You're welcome. I'm just – I'm glad you're okay. Uh. Both of you."

Tony rolls his eyes, because _Jesus Christ_, really? He glances over at Pepper. "Hey, I need to talk to Cap here for a second. Could you excuse us?"

The look Pepper gives Tony is a touch cool. "Of course," she says. "I'm going to go see how Cecil's doing."

As soon as she's out of earshot, Tony shoves his hands in his pockets and says, quietly, "We need to get her out of the city. As soon as possible."

Steve, his eyes suddenly unreadable behind the mask, looks at him sideways. "I could make a call," he says quietly. "If you wanted."

Tony watches a bird fly over a streetlight while he considers. S.H.I.E.L.D. again. Like some kind of damned yo-yo with them: just when the thinks the Avengers are getting away, they end up right back there. Still, there's one upside he can see: "I don't want to know where she is," he says. "I don't want any of us to know where she is, not until this is over."

"I'm sure they can do that," Steve says, and there's something like understanding in his voice. But then he huffs a laugh. "You know, from what I've seen of her, I'd say the biggest problem is going to be making her stay wherever they take her. She seems pretty determined to be here. It's – she's something else."

"...uh-huh." Tony's hands are fists in his pockets. "Go ahead and make the call, okay? The sooner they can get her out of here, the better." He turns away. "Guess I'd better go tell her."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Steve says, open amusement still in his voice.

Tony shoots a look over his shoulder. "She's engaged, Steve."

Steve's smile disappears like Tony'd just slapped it off, and, okay, it makes Tony feel like an asshole to see it. But, really, he tells himself as he crosses the road to join Pepper by the mangled SUV, he just did Steve a big favor: better to nip it in the bud before it had a chance than to wait until Steve had his hopes up and got his heart broken.

That's all it is.

Yep. That's all.

xXx

Pepper is, of course, furious when Tony breaks the news: it's the bewildered-betrayed kind of furious, where she's all tight-mouthed and pinched-faced and narrow-eyed, her arms folded tightly over her chest and her cheeks so red Tony imagines that an egg would sizzle on them.

It's the face of a woman who is bound and determined not to be hidden away, a point she makes repeatedly and loudly, while the firefighters and police officers around them pretend not to hear. Even when Tony points out, reasonably, that she's not a fighter, she still glares daggers at him and insists she can be more use to him _there_ than off somewhere hiding.

Steve wanders over at that point and tells "Miss Potts" in his quietly professional way that he appreciates her wanting to help, but that things have gotten too ugly. He tells her that they – "whoever they are" – have proven just how far they're willing to go to get at Tony. He tells her she's not safe, and that the only way she _can_ be safe is by getting beyond anyone's reach.

So she can be there in case they need somebody to set the record straight after the dust settles.

Pepper, looking somewhat mollified by Steve's earnest appeal, unclenches her jaw enough to admit maybe Big Blue has a point.

"I just hate having to pick up the pieces," she tells Steve without once looking in Tony's direction. "It's all I ever seem to do."

"I'm sure," Steve tells her. His hand twitches toward her like he wants to maybe touch her shoulder or take her hand. The hand drops, though, and he looks away. "It can't be easy, but at least this way, if things go wrong..."

She touches his forearm. "Don't say that."

"Yeah, really," Tony puts in.

They both ignore him. Again.

In the end, they – Tony refuses to believe it's all Steve – persuade her to go.

xXx

An hour later, Tony kisses Pepper's cheek and tells her, quietly, to be careful. She's not smiling when she tells him the same, and her arms are tight around him.

She hugs both Thor and Steve and tells them the same thing.

Then she climbs into the back of a gray SUV and becomes nothing more than a pair of fading tail lights in the distance.

Afters she's gone, Steve tells him what he hadn't wanted to say in front of Pepper: every one of their attackers is dead. Not from injuries, but from some kind of poison. Every one of them had a hole in his mouth where a tooth had been.

No identification on any of them, either, of course.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents Fury sent gather fingerprints and take photos. They assure Steve and Tony that Director Fury has instructed them to copy the Avengers in on everything that comes up – as soon as anything does. Hell, they even give Tony copies of the photos and fingerprints when he asks for them.

Because it never hurts to have another set of eyes on it, he figures.

Steve says he and Bruce are heading back to the mansion to bring Tasha up to speed and to get some rest, and tells Tony he ought to come with them and do the same.

Tony, feeling achy and tired and out of sorts, finds that's about the last thing he wants to do, so he begs off. Says Tasha finds anything to let him know, but otherwise he's heading to back to his tower for a while. He pretends not to hear Steve's protest that he shouldn't be alone.

They let him go, in the end.

Of course they do.

xXx

So, now it's three hours later, and Tony's feeling every one of his bruises as he rests against his enemy-turned-fuck-buddy. It's some strange parody of fellow-feeling, but the longer it goes on, the longer they sit in the deepening quiet, the less weird it gets.

It doesn't fix anything, it doesn't _solve_ anything, it doesn't _change_ anything, but after a while, he's able to relax and drift as his mind finally starts to spin down after the day's drama.

Hell, he would have fallen asleep right there, if Loki hadn't finally shifted away.

Tony blinks at him, uncomprehending.

Loki, green eyes dark and hooded, reaches out and runs a light finger over the gash on Tony's forehead. "Magnet for trouble," he murmurs, a frown in his voice.

"Not just me," Tony says through a yawn.

"No, I suppose not." Loki lowers his hand and starts to rise. "Another night, perhaps."

Without even pausing to think about what he's doing, Tony reaches out and grabs Loki's wrist, fingers closing vice-like over the band of scar tissue. Loki makes a small noise, a soft hiss, like he's in pain, and tries to pull away, but Tony holds fast and rasps, "Stay."

It's as much a command as a request.

Loki freezes. In the room's pale light, he's all planes and angles, face half-hidden in sharp-cornered shadows. "I shouldn't," he says quietly.

It's as much a question as a demurral.

"Loki." Tony rolls the ball of his thumb over the scar, a light graze of a touch along the underside of Loki's wrist. "Stay."

It's only because he doesn't want to be alone tonight, not after this disaster of a day.

Only that, but maybe he's not the only one:

After a long moment, Loki lowers his head, sighs, nods.

xXx

_All lying across the ground  
__Trying not to make no sound  
__Two men gonna break ya down  
__I said "Two men gonna break ya down," I breathe  
_-Kasabian, "Running Battle"

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	14. Then I might breathe again

13. **"If only I could clear my eyes , then I might breathe once more. Then I might breathe again."**

_Standing on the edge of his tower again, no suit, wind in his hair and something dark and shapeless somewhere behind him – he knows it's there, can feel it stalking him – but he can't see it._

_Can't. See. It._

_And the next thing he knows is, fuck, is that that thing has picked him up and has flung him._

_He's in the air again, he's flying again, he's falling again._

_Falling from the top of his own fucking tower, and it's this weightless-helpless-hopeless feeling because, damn damn damn, it's a long way down. A long way. So long that the bottom is just this black yawning maw, wide open and ready to swallow him up as soon as he hits._

_Body's paralyzed, arms and legs won't move, and he's a missile, just rocketing headfirst to the ground._

_Gonna crash, gonna explode, gonna die._

_He's going to die._

_This is it, this is the end._

_The ground is rushing up to meet hi-_

Tony snaps awake, gasping, body all but flinging itself off his pillow, heart just hammering away in his chest like it really is trying to beat itself to death against the arc reactor.

He lifts an unsteady hand to swipe at his face. Stubble hisses rough against his fingertips, a sandpapery sound that gets lost in the dying end of a quiet sigh.

Remembering suddenly that he hadn't been alone when he'd gone to bed, Tony looks around, frowning until he sees the outline of a dark-clad figure near the windows.

It's still dark outside, the moonless sky hidden under a heavy blanket of gray-black clouds. The only light in the room is coming from Tony himself: the arc reactor, which illuminates the room just enough for him to see that Loki is standing with his back to the bed, looking out into the night, clad in his dark trousers and shirt, hands clasped behind him.

Loki doesn't look around; it's almost like he's deliberately giving Tony space to catch his breath, to pull himself together, to decide whether or not to go back to sleep and pretend nothing happened. And whether it's intentional or not, Tony can't help feeling a small measure of both gratitude and affection toward him for it.

After a brief mental debate, Tony decides he's not tired enough to try to sleep again. He slides off the bed, movements made creaky and stiff by the lingering aches from yesterday's beating and from last night's even-rougher-than-usual sex.

He drags on the shirt and pants he'd discarded earler, and heads off to the bathroom.

Once he's done there, and still blinking stray bits of nightmare out of his eyes, he pads over to join Loki at the window.

Loki glances at him, just a quick little sideways look. He doesn't say anything, though, and it's too dark for Tony to make out any expression on his face.

And since Tony can't think of anything to say other than something stupid and obvious like, 'Couldn't sleep, huh?' and since he's not really in any place to fend off the glare a stupid and obvious question like that would no doubt earn him, he keeps quiet and just stares out the window, still balled-up and reeling from the dream.

At some point, one of Loki's hands sneaks up to rest on Tony's shoulder. It's a quick, out-of-nowhere moment, and Tony's still too sleep-sluggish to care. It's a light touch, easy and oddly gentle, and he finds himself sidling over until he's standing mostly in front of Loki, back pressed to Loki's chest. Loki's hand drops away and his arms thread around Tony's waist, a loose cage, and Tony laces his own hands together over them.

They remain twined together for a long while, neither moving nor speaking, just watching the rain patter against the glass, a soft sweep like thousands of tiny fingers tapping all at once.

Lightning flickers along the undersides of the clouds, diffuse and shapeless, and thunder is the rumble of an annoyed tiger.

For some reason, Tony finds himself thinking about Thor.

Which, considering who he's with right now, is both funny and slightly disturbing.

And good Christ, if just fucking Loki makes him a hypocrite, what does _this_ – whatever the hell it is they're doing right here and right now – make him?

"Do you do this often?" An unexpected murmur against the shell of his ear, a warm rush of breath and vibration in a curious sound.

Tony starts, shivers. "Do what?"

"Dream badly."

"...I guess? I don't really keep track. Maybe. More than I'd like to." He traces a finger along the back of Loki's hand, along the sharp wrist bones, and up toward the thick scar just above them. "Do you?"

Loki's breath hitches when Tony's fingers ghost over the scar, but he makes no move to pull away. "I never used to, but..."

"Yeah." Tony lets his hands fall away. "Tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"You're assuming I want to talk about mine or that I want to hear about yours." There's no real heat in Loki's voice, though.

"You brought it up in the first place," Tony points out. A master of the token protest, he knows them when he hears them. "I get thrown off the tower. No suit, no rescue. I'm about to die. I wake up. The end."

There's a long silence before Loki finally says, "That appears to be a recurring theme with you."

"I know," he says through a sigh, and that reminds him: he still needs to finish that wing suit prototype. He has had languishing in his lab. Given all the other bullshit that's been going on around him lately, he hasn't had time to finish it.

Not tonight, though, and he puts it out of mind altogether when Loki says, his quiet, inflectionless voice hovering just behind Tony's head, "I'm on a series of battlefields. Different planes, different realms, different times. It's the same thing: chaos, war, destruction. I've caused it somehow. And everyone I know is dead. I've killed you all myself. I've won. The end."

You all.

Tony blinks. "Murdering everybody – that doesn't sound like winning to me."

"I know." Loki holds out his hands, palms up. The scars on his wrists are visible, even in the weak light. "That is where I got these."

Tony starts. "From your dreams?"

"From one, yes. When I was bound on Asgard."

"Jesus. How?"

"I have no idea, actually. I had one of those dreams, and when I woke up the chains on my wrists had burned me. Something in my magic must have reacted. And still does. I can't heal them."

"Huh." Tony shakes his head. "That – wow. That's bizarre. Do...? You don't want all that, though, do you? To win like that? All that death and destruction."

"Not like that, no. No more than you want to be thrown out of your tower."

"Then what _do _you want?"

There's a long, charged silence at this. Tony holds still, holds his breath, waits. But all Loki does is lean back and start to nip a light trail down the back of Tony's neck, just above the collar of Tony's shirt.

"Right now," he murmurs, lips soft against against Tony's skin, "you'll do nicely."

Tony hums and leans back, tilting his head to give Loki better access. Loki obliges, kisses gliding along the side of Tony's neck and up toward his jaw, toward _that spot_, the one Loki seems to have claimed as his own, the soft hollow below Tony's jaw.

Yeah, it's a distraction, but his cock's already stirring and talking's really overrated, anyway.

So he doesn't resist when he feels Loki's hands turn him, even though he thinks maybe he should because he always does and since when has anything about this been gentle?

It isn't supposed to be.

But.

He lets himself be turned and the next thing he knows they're kissing, lips meeting in a way that's not at all crushing or rough; it's easy and it's familiar enough, though, and good God Loki has a talented tongue.

At some point, clothes are shed and they're back down on the bed.

Now, Loki's hands are gentle and his touches are as lingering as his kisses, and Tony finds himself reciprocating in kind, letting his hands wander as a curious child's might over an unfamiliar surface. There's heat, certainly, and he's already hard as can be, but gone is last night's driving urgency, and gone is that out-of-control desire to inflict damage.

He'd been the one to push things that far. Loki had been holding back, much like now, but Tony, who'd had a sudden wildfire raging inside, hadn't wanted any part of it. He'd taken and demanded and he'd shoved until Loki had finally fought back. It had been a free-for-all after that, with Tony eventually winding up on top.

Now, though, all of that is gone; the wildfire has burned itself down to coals, and he doesn't mind the idea of maybe slowing it down a little.

He's never really noticed this before, but Loki's skin is pale over slabs of muscle, firm but yielding, warm, and smooth. Sensitive, too, because quite often he hits or sucks on a spot that elicits a soft gasp, and each time that happens he catches himself on the edge of a smirk.

Because, yeah, _I did that._

After a while, Loki winds up on top, hands and mouth roaming all over, the sensation like little sparks over raw, exposed nerves chasing each touch and _so fucking good_, and Tony experiences the tiniest sliver of panic: it's too much, too fucking_ intense_, too goddamn _close_.

But then Loki's fingers whisper over that secret sensitive spot on Tony's hip. Something hot and dark and wonderful jolts through Tony's stomach at that moment, all want-wrapped and _God, I need this_ and _I want this_. It's at that point he forgets his panic. Stops thinking entirely, and just lets it all build.

Build and build.

This is _different_.

There's a question in Loki's eyes as his hand hovers near Tony's ass, almost like he's asking for _permission_, and Tony nods because, yeah, getting fucked right now seems like the best idea he's ever heard.

Loki doesn't hurry, and Tony doesn't let himself get impatient.

Instead, he closes his eyes and let his mind drift to that place where it's all input-input-input: a touch ghosting over that spot on his hip, a slick finger teasing_, _a slow stretch and slower burn, his own gasps and Loki's wordless hums.

Sensation like being thrown into a bucket of electricity when Loki begins to slide in, and Tony arches up, stunned, shuddering, breathing hard when Loki's fully in. Pleasure ripples through him, fingers to toes, all the way through his marrow, so intense he knows he's going to come apart at the seams and end up a puddle on the bed.

(In some distant part of his brain – the tiniest bit still functioning – he registers that Loki's probably using magic on him, has to be, this can't be natural, that's why this feels as...

...as fucking amazing at it does.)

He's pulled up from behind and held against a firm chest until the shudders subside. At some point, he feels Loki bury his face against the side of his neck, breathing harsh and shallow and fast. And Tony swears he can feel a thundering heartbeat against his back.

But he says nothing.

That storm, whatever it was, seems to subside just a little, just for a moment. But it picks up again as soon as Loki begins to slow-fuck him: a slide of skin on skin in a slow rhythm, steady and unhurried, and the sensation is enough to make Tony jam the back of his head into Loki's shoulder and groan.

He's so hard it actually hurts.

Loki's fingers find Tony's cock at that particular instant and begin to dance a wicked dance all over it, stroking and teasing and moving in time with his own thrusts. They're both clawing for breath and rocking and it's building and _Jesus Christ..._

Building and building, until, at last...

When Tony finally goes over, his entire body clenches as his orgasm tears through him, bullet-fast and hard enough to make his whole body shake from the sheer relief.

Loki follows right behind, shuddering, air hissing out between his teeth, a strangled cry in his throat, hands clenching Tony's hips with bruising strength.

They collapse in a tangle of limbs into what Tony can only describe as stunned silence. He finds he can't think, can't move, can't even summon the energy to process what just happened. All he can do is lay spooned against Loki's chest, sweat-soaked and panting and wrung out.

_Oh, holy shit_.

His head's still buzzing when he staggers up to grab a rag out of the bathroom. Wordlessly, not even really looking at Loki, he cleans them up. That done, he tosses the rag aside and crawls back into bed.

He's still trying to remember how to speak when sleep sneaks up on him and drags him back under.

If there are dreams this time, he doesn't remember them.

xXx

Hell, he might have slept the day away if his cell phone hadn't gone off a few hours later.

The sound of it jolts him awake, and he finds himself lurching upright before his brain has a chance to process the change in perspective. Wincing at the stiffness and mild pain in his back, he snags the phone off the nightstand, squints blearily at the display, sighs, and hits the answer button. "'Lo?"

"Tony?" Steve's voice, cautious.

Tony scrubs a hand over his eyes, swings his legs around so he's sitting on the edge of his bed. "Yeah, Steve," he says, voice sleep-raspy. He clears his throat. "What's up?"

"Uh." There's a pause. "Well, I was just – I hadn't heard from you this morning, and I just wanted to check in. Did I wake you?"

"Mm-hmm." Muted daylight is seeping in through the windows. It's dim and gray thanks to a dense layer of clouds, but the rain appears to have stopped. Tony clears his throat. "Time's it?"

"After eight. And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"'S all right. Should be getting up here anyway." There's a lot of work to do, come to think of it: he needs to stop and see Cecil, needs to set Jarvis loose on the Stark Industries' servers to see if he can shake anything loose there, and, oh yeah, there's the little matter of trying to figure out who the fuck attacked them yesterday.

Not to mention having to decide what to do about Tom Andrews.

He scrubs a hand over his eyes. "Did Tasha find anything?"

"Not yet," Steve says. "She says she's in, though, and I guess she has JARVIS doing some searches for her. She's over with Clint right now. Bruce, too. I thought they could use a break."

"They?"

"Yeah, I guess Bruce couldn't sleep this morning, so he did some work for her while she did. Looks like they've worked things out. And he seems to be doing a lot better."

"I noticed that. It's good. I think we're gonna be okay." Which reminds him: he still needs to finish getting the radiation things adapted for his armor, too, at some point. He'd gotten started, but hadn't had a chance to get very far once it got to be time for Tasha and Thor to head into OsCorp. "All right. Well, ah, look, I'm going to get up and moving here. I want to stop by the hospital to see Clint and Cecil, and I have a few phone calls I want to make, so I'll be there in a few hours, I guess."

"You know," Steve says, the words sounding oddly tentative, "I could go with you. To the hospital, I mean. I haven't been up to see Clint yet today, and I wanted to check on Mr. Wilkes, too."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Hey-"

"I just don't want any of us to be alone right now, that's all," Steve says over him. "Not after yesterday."

"Who says I'm alone right now?" Tony retorts, and _good lord_ he wants to kick himself. Stupid mouth and its stupid habit of jumping out ahead of his brain.

He glances around and finds Loki watching him with those fathomless green eyes. It's quite a picture: Loki's got an arm thrown over his forehead, the other resting lightly over his chest, his hair's a rumpled dark halo around his head, and he's got the sheet pulled down to just past his hips.

The bruises he'd had all over his face and body last night have mostly faded

Tony isn't even fully awake, but man, his cock's sure getting that way because Loki is temptation made manifest, all splayed out and inviting like that.

The indolent smile playing at the corner of Loki's lips tells Tony it's _entirely_ deliberate.

_Asshole._

"Are you there, Tony?"

Swallowing hard, he shakes his head and turns away. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"I said 'oh, how nice for you,'" Steve says, tone thin and oddly prissy. "You brought a woman home."

"Didn't say I was with a woman." Because sometimes he can't help himself. It's fun to imagine the look on the guy's face, to try to guess what shade of red it's turning, to wonder just how wide his eyes are.

"You know, I don't even want to know," Steve eventually says.

"Yeah, you really don't," Tony says, chuckling. Then, deciding to relent: "I'll come get you here in about an hour or so and we can head up to the hospital. Sound good?"

Relief and a big, sunny smile in Steve's voice when he says, "Sounds great. Guess I'll see you then."

"Yeah, see you." Tony disconnects the call, and for some stupid reason all he can see in his mind's eye is an image of a happy Golden Retriever wagging its tail.

He tosses his phone back down on the nightstand and looks around. Finds Loki hasn't moved. Hasn't even changed expressions.

The smug, smirking asshole.

Growling under his breath, determined to wipe that smug asshole look of Loki's face, Tony swings back up onto the bed and moves quickly to get on top of Loki, to straddle his hips and pin him down.

Not that Loki, strong as he is, couldn't get away if he wanted to, but Loki doesn't even try. All he does is settle his hands on Tony's legs. His eyes are half-lidded, already lust-hazy, and that fucking smirk might as well be tattooed on for all that it looks like it's not going anywhere.

"I thought you had to go," he says quietly. The words come out almost like a purr, thick and throaty, and dense with amusement.

"I have time," Tony manages. And good God, if Tony wasn't already hard himself, the sound of Loki's voice would have gotten him there in a hurry. And that is just so fucking wrong.

Loki reaches up a lazy hand and begins to trace slow circles around the edge of Tony's arc reactor. "And what," he murmurs, "would you suggest we do with that time?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas," Tony says. "But one thing first. Was – before. Was that magic?"

Blinking, the smirk swapping for a puzzled-looking frown, Loki says, "Before?"

"When we were...uh, you know. Earlier. I felt..." He makes a vague gesture with his hand. "It felt different. Like _more.._.well, everything. I don't know. Did you use magic?"

"Ah." Loki clears his throat. His hand falls away from Tony's chest. "Yes."

Tony stares down, startled. He can't decide if he's more surprised that Loki did it or that Loki admitted it. "You did."

"It was a minuscule amount," Loki says. There's a defensive edge to the words, but he doesn't look away. Not that he really can, what with Tony all but sitting on him. "Far less than even that little fragment I left in you. I thought you'd enjoy it."

"I did," Tony says, shrugging. "A lot. Just – a little head's up next time, all right? So I know I'm not going nuts or anything. You know. You haven't done it before, have you?"

"No."

"Good. Didn't think so." With a little smirk of his own, Tony swings his leg over and hops down off the bed altogether. Pads off toward the bathroom, as nonchalantly as he can given he's still pretty fucking hard.

Behind him, Loki says, "Where are you going?"

Tony pauses. "I'm going to take a shower. Things to do, you know."

He gives it a slow three count, and then turns around. Sees Loki watching him from the bed, frowning, uncertain, no trace of the smug asshole look to be found.

Raising eyebrows in a show of impatience, he says, "By 'things to do,' I meant _you. _You coming or not?"

Loki shoots him a look that could blister the paint on the walls. "No, I don't think I am," he says. "I am not a _thing _be used for your amusement."

Unfazed, unrepentant, Tony just shrugs. "I never said you were," he says. "Don't twist my words. You don't want to join me, that's fine. I'll just have to take care of myself." It's his turn to flash a smug, dirty smile as he saunters off to the shower.

Three minutes, he figures, tops, before Loki caves.

xXx

Hell, it's not even _one _minute.

And Tony, as he's pinned back against the shower wall and kissed hard enough to leave him breathless, can't quite help flashing a triumphant grin.

Two victories in one day.

How about that?

xXx

Of course, Loki gets one back, at one point reducing Tony to a state of completely wanton and totally unmanly begging.

_That mouth_, good God.

On the whole, though, Tony finds he doesn't really mind.

xXx

Afterward, as they dress, an awkward silence falls between them.

It's that morning after thing that Tony has always really hated, the kind of thing they've managed to avoid up until now thanks to Loki never staying. Back in the day, when it was a different woman (or the occasional man) nearly every night, Tony make it a habit to be in another room altogether by the time his bedmate woke up. Of course, those were the days he wasn't above letting Pepper handle that cleanup, too.

Briefly, as he's zipping up his jeans, he wonders where she is, if she's okay, how she's doing.

It's just a fleeting thought, though, because that's still kind of a sore spot and he doesn't want to poke it too hard.

Plus, Loki is actually _here_, and something's going to have to be said. Eventually.

Tony clears his throat. "So. You gonna be around?"

"I should be," Loki replies without looking up from where he's pulling on his shoes. "For a few days."

"Busy?"

"Not terribly." He glances over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised but his face expressionless otherwise. "Do you wish me to return?"

Tony holds his gaze, thinking:

It isn't saying much, but this is one of the few things he has going for him that feels like it works. Loki is expectant and demanding, but only of things he knows Tony's willing to give him. He doesn't push Tony to talk about his goddamn _feelings,_ doesn't try to smother Tony with concern, and doesn't act like he expects Tony to do either of those things for him.

Tony likes that, and, though he will not admit this on threat of death, he likes Loki for it.

And it occurs to him right then that given different circumstances, in another lifetime, this is something that might have gone somewhere.

Might have been something.

Which – huh. Okay, that's sort of a thought out of nowhere, but it's one that doesn't cause Tony as much alarm as he might have expected. It's hypothetical, of course, he's not seriously entertaining the idea, but still, it's interesting.

In another lifetime, maybe it could have been something.

But not in this one.

Not with the reality of Loki's fugitive status and all his past crimes and the fact that Tony still doesn't know what's Loki is actually up to still between them. Even if Loki has managed to make up for a little of it by saving Earth a few times – and he has, what with stopping all those tears and all – the fact is, this little bubble they're in is going to pop, because Loki is either going to get caught and sent away or he's going to do something to show his true colors.

It's going to end, eventually, because it was always going to end.

This was never going to be anything but a temporary reprieve for both of them: a short time where a couple of misfits met up and beat back the loneliness together – and had a hell of a lot of fun doing it.

So, yeah, it'll end.

Just not right this second.

Really, there's no question at all. Tony says, "Yeah, I do."

And maybe Loki had some inkling of what was going through Tony's head because he smiles this strange smile, knowing and a little rueful, and he says, "Then I will."

"All right, cool," Tony says. "So, listen, things are kind of nuts right now. Magnet for trouble. You know." He pulls in a short breath, takes a quick mental breather. "What I'm trying to say is I don't know when I will or won't be here. So if you show up like tonight or tomorrow and I'm not here, just hang out. JARVIS will let me know you're here and I'll let him know to tell you whether I can make it or not. I mean, if that's okay."

Loki just laughs as he stands to face Tony fully. His eyes are full of astonished amusement. "You really are a ridiculous creature, Stark," he says, and he sounds completely exasperated. "You get yourself into the sort of trouble that ends in injury for you_,_ and yet you're concerned that I might mind having to wait or you."

"You know, when you put it that way..."

"Indeed. And that is fine."

"Oh. Okay, good. Good." He closes the last little bit of distance between them and, because he can, he stretches up, grins, and kisses Loki again, languid and slow and lingering. No teeth, no biting, no fighting, and, hey, it's pretty fucking nice.

Could get used to it, honestly.

Kissing a god.

Why not?

Because this is apparently his life now.

Only...

Something's different when Loki pulls back.

Something has changed in his expression.

It's like some switch got in his head flipped in that handful of seconds, because where he was smiling himself just a second ago, now he looks like he's having a quiet freakout.

He stares at Tony with wide, intense eyes, face tight like he's in pain. It's a look that throws Tony straight back to that night in the quinjet a lifetime ago, that night when lightning had begun to streak across the sky and Loki's whole body had begun to broadcast distress.

This isn't quite that, but it's close.

Not wanting to ask, but unable to help himself, Tony says, "What is it?"

Loki looks away. Says nothing. Seems to be struggling with something.

Tony shifts, frowning. "Look, either spit it out or save it until laster, okay? I really have to go." Hell, he's already late as it is, and it's a wonder Steve hasn't called him already.

Green eyes find him again. Hold him. "Stay," Loki finally says. "I need to tell you something."

"Okay...?"

"Ask me what I've been doing."

"What?"

"Ask me," Loki repeats, cold and hard and desperate, "what I have been _doing_."

Tony's stomach drops. "You better be fucking kidding me," he says. "This better be a joke."

_Boy Who Cried Wolf._

"_Stark_."

Tony's chest is suddenly too tight, his hands are balled fists, and his eyes are squeezed shut tight. Trying to block it out, because, fuck, not now. Not fucking _now_.

Hears himself ask in this funny, squeezed voice, "What have you been doing Loki? Huh? What the fuck have you been up to?"

xXx

Loki tells him everything.

And nothing is the same.

xXx

_Old sun and stars,  
__And oceans below me  
__Guide my strides over  
__Jagged shards, underfoot  
_-Isis, "1,000 Shards"

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	15. there are no words

14. **[there are no words]**

_Loki tells him everything._

_And nothing is the same.  
_

xXx

Once he's committed to saying what he has to say, Loki becomes calm again.

He speaks with neither remorse nor apology.

Is, in fact, dry and cold, as he explains what's coming.

That doesn't make it any easier to hear.

xXx

Afterward, there is silence.

The hell of it is, Tony's angry, plenty angry, but he's not really surprised.

Not really.

Deep down, way down deep, he's been expecting it.

The way things have been going lately, he'd have been stupid not to.

xXx

When Tony finally breaks the silence, it's only to say, cold and calm, "You're coming with me."

Loki, who's perched on the edge of Tony's bed, glances up from where he'd been absorbed in a study of his hands. He's calm himself, smooth-faced, expression free of the desperation and uncertainty that had him all twisted up not even fifteen minutes ago.

He asks, simply, "Where?"

Tony starts to answer, only to be interrupted by his cell phone ringing, "Real American" blasting tinny out of the speaker again. Somehow he never did get around to changing that.

He pulls it out and hits the connect button. "Yeah, Steve," he says brusquely.

"Tony, thank God." Tony expected Steve to sound annoyed since it's been well over an hour, but Steve just sounds relieved. "Where are you? Are you all right?"

Tony rolls his eyes. "I'm fine. I'm still at the tower, is all. Something came up."

"Yeah, it did here, too. Listen, I just got off the phone with Tasha. And, um. Tony, I have some really bad news. It's about Mr. Wilkes."

"Cecil?" Tony pulls in a deep breath. Bracing himself. "What about him?"

There's a long pause before Steve says, quietly, "He – he's dead, Tony. Tasha said somebody got into his room there at the hospital just a little bit ago and they, um, killed him. They cut his throat."

"_What_?" The word's a shocked explosion, out before he's even aware he'd spoken it. "_Who_? How?"

Cecil had been recuperating at the same hospital as Clint. At a hospital, for God's sake, at a place that should have been safe. How the hell does that happen?

If Steve answers, Tony doesn't hear it.

He scrubs an unsteady hand over his mouth, walks backward until he hits a wall ass-first, slides down it. Feeling, as he does, like a bomb has gone off inside his skull and left his thoughts scattered like so much debris.

Cecil. Dead. Killed. Murdered.

Cecil is dead. Was killed. Was murdered in his hospital room.

Words that come together like tiles to form a mosaic, and god, Tony hates the picture.

"Are you sure?" he hears himself ask.

"Yeah," Steve says. "Yeah, I'm sure. I am so sorry, Tony. Tasha and Bruce, they're there. Tasha's already talked to one of the police officers, and – yeah. I mean, we're sure. But nobody saw it happen, that's the problem, and by the time somebody found him, whoever did it was long gone. Tasha, she thinks it might be the same people who went after you guys yesterday."

"You mean the guys we still don't know anything about." Their attackers, the guys in the black pajamas, whose faces and fingerprints hadn't been in any system JARVIS could get into. Like they hadn't existed.

"...yeah."

Tony lets his head fall back against the wall. Takes a long, slow breath. "Okay," he says. "All right." It's neither, but, fuck, what can he do? Cecil's dead. Cecil is dead, and there is nothing he can do about it. "Shit. What do we know? Anything?"

"Not yet. Like I said, Tasha and Bruce are looking into it, and Tasha said she'd call as soon as she finds anything out." Steve takes a breath, too. "Listen, I'm going to come get you. If it is the same guys, I don't want you trying to come over here without backup."

"No," Tony says. "Don't. I'm – I'll be fine."

"I wasn't asking." Hint of steel in Cap's voice at that. "None of us should be alone."

"I'm _not_." Stunned or not, reeling or not, Tony hasn't forgotten that he's not alone in the room. He just can't bring himself to open his eyes or lift his head. Does not, as it turns out, really want to know what Loki is doing or thinking right now. "I'm not alone, Steve," he says again. "In fact, there's another thing."

"What do you mean another thing?" Steve asks. "Who's with you?"

"Loki." He doesn't give Steve a chance to interject, just barrels ahead. "Long story short – showed up here and told me some big invasion's coming. A few days from now. End of the world big. You know. That kind of thing." He's aware he's talking in shorthand, but for the life of him he can't stop. There's just too much going on in his head. "Get everybody together as soon as you can."

"Tony, what-"

"_Steve_." Loud and frayed, like his nerves have begun to unravel. Probably because they have. "Just get everybody together. Call Fury, too. We're gonna need him."

Might as well just rip that Band-Aid off right now, too.

Why not?

"Okay, okay," Steve says in that quiet, soothing tone he'd no doubt use to wake somebody up. "Look, Tasha said she thinks the police are going to start letting people leave again in about an hour. But she wants to get Clint moved out of there, too, so-"

"Fine, fine, whatever they have to do. Just make it snappy. This won't keep."

"Tony..."

"_What_?"

"Are you...? All you sure you're okay? I can be there if you need me."

What Tony wants to say is:_ Steve, Loki just told me some dude with a hard-on for death is about to try to wipe us off the planet. You just told me one of the few people I actually trust on this fucking planet got murdered. What do you think?_

What he wants to say is: _I've had my company taken away from me, I'm being hunted, people I know keep getting killed, the fucking world is about to end, and everybody's acting like they expect me to know what the fuck I'm doing. You know what? Fuck you. Fuck this. Fuck all of it. I'm done. I quit. I'm going to spend the last few days I have getting drunk and getting laid. That end of the world thing? Have fun with that._

All he actually says is, "I'll be fine, Cap. Always am. See you in a bit."

He hangs up without waiting for Steve to reply. Tosses the phone down. Closes his eyes, sighs, mutters, "Fuck."

That about sums it all up right there.

Because as much as he'd like to say 'fuck it all,' he can't. Not now. Maybe not ever, not while he's still alive and still able to fight. Even if the universe seems to be going out of its way to fuck him over, even then, he can't see giving up. He'll fight back just because if he's going to get fucked, he's not going to just take it.

"What's happened?" A quiet question from somewhere close by.

Tony doesn't even move. Just says, mildly, "Don't see how that's any of your concern."

"I didn't say I was concerned," is the bland reply. "I simply asked what's happened."

Something in Loki's tone makes Tony open his eyes. When he does, he finds Loki has joined him on the floor. The big guy's not crowding him at all, sitting just out of arm's reach, actually, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, and just watching like they have all the time in the world, nothing more than curiosity in his expression.

All of a sudden, Tony finds he's tired of being the only one out on this island, tired of being the only guy standing in the eye of this particular hurricane, of being the one and only guy in the universe who knows about all the ridiculous, chaotic bullshit circling over his head.

He can feel it starting to build again, that pressure: all the frustration and grief and anger, it's like water surging against a dam that's never been all that strong.

The moment before it breaks and Tony lets go, he thinks, well, fuck it. If he's going to be down in the pit, he's not going to be down here by himself. So when that dam gives, what comes pouring out of him isn't anything like melodramatic sobs or an oh-woe-is-me hissyfit or anything like that.

It's just words.

It's this big, incoherent jumble of words that gush out of him like water. It's everything – from Pepper to Cecil and everything in between – all at once. It all comes out in a way that makes little sense even to him. He doesn't try to stop it or slow it down. Just lets it come. Lets it go.

For his part, Loki just listens, impassive. He doesn't try to interrupt, doesn't really acknowledge anything Tony's saying, doesn't offer any sympathetic looks. Hell, he doesn't really even look at Tony at all, instead just stares off at a spot on the floor.

It's like he's standing back the way he had this morning after Tony had woken up out of the nightmare. He hadn't said a word, hadn't even acknowledged Tony, had instead just let Tony work through it himself. It had turned out okay then.

Seems to be now, too.

As Tony talks, the pressure begins to ease back, and by the time the words start to dry up, he feels like he's taken a step away from the ledge – maybe even gotten himself some breathing room. He's at least calmed down enough that, pissed off and fucked up or not, he's together.

He feels just a little less like saying 'fuck this' and just more like saying 'gotta fix this.'

So after he's done, he scrubs a hand over his mouth, sighs, and says, "We need to go."

Loki glances around, eyebrows lifted. "You still want me to come with you."

"Yeah. Kinda need you to, actually. I mean, this isn't the kind of thing you just drop on my lap and walk away from. You helped make this mess, so you're gonna have to help clean it up."

"Fair enough," Loki murmurs. He rises, fluid and dancer-graceful, and turns to offer Tony a hand up. "I assume we're going directly to where the others are?"

"The mansion," Tony says. He allows himself to be pulled to his feet. "Not yet. I want to stop by Cecil's apartment first. See if by some chance he left anything there." His office would be more likely, but given it's probably already been cleaned out and given the headache he can see himself having if he tried to get in there, it's not worth it. Still, he's not without his resources. "Hey, JARVIS," he says, "can you get into the Stark Industries' email servers and grab everything from Cecil Wilkes' account? Any other files he left on the server, too." Might be too late, but it's worth a shot.

"Of course, sir," is all JARVIS says.

That settled, Tony looks at Loki and says simply, "Let's go."

Loki says nothing as he turns to follow Tony out the door.

xXx

Tony decides to drive them down to Cecil's place.

Probably not the best decision, given his state of mind, but oh well. He's driving and that's that. Screw anybody who tries to get in his way.

Loki, meanwhile, sits slouched back in the passenger's seat, staring out his window. If he's at all alarmed by Tony's erratic driving – who the hell parks that far off the curb, anyway? – it doesn't show.

When Tony can't take the quiet anymore, he glances over and says, "What?"

"You said 'you helped make this mess,'" Loki eventually replies without looking around. He appears to be following the progress of a truck that has just made a right turn ahead of them. "You blame me for this, do you not?"

Tony doesn't really even have to think about it. "Yeah," he says. "Not entirely, but yeah. But I gotta tell you right now, if you try to play the oh-poor-me, everybody-blames-me card here, I swear to god I will glue one of those magic-inhibiting pucks to your forehead and throw you in a cage with Hulk." He means that. Or he would, if they had time for something like that. Or if he didn't think Loki would pull some nasty magic-fu in retaliation. "Maybe you're not the big bad, but you said yourself you're the one who led him here. Oh! Not to mention the part where you're working for him. You made that choice, so it's all on you."

Loki shoots him a glare that's all annoyance: lowered eyebrows and narrow eyes. "Yet again you've mistaken a simple 'yes' or 'no' question for an invitation to lecture. Do you really think me so incapable of seeing my own culpability? I assure you, I see it quite clearly."

"Then why even ask?"

"I don't deny my complicity, Stark, but neither do I wish to bear the full brunt of the blame for this. I was ultimately responsible for leading him to Earth, yes, but he is the one who decided to raise an army to bring here. That decision was made well before any of us was aware of it. Had Mephisto not stepped out of line, we would still be unaware of it."

"Yeah, well, considering you've known about this for weeks and haven't said anything, I can't say you're exactly off the hook, big guy." Tony cuts around a slow-moving van. The driver honks and shoots a middle finger out her driver's side window. "Also, like I said, there's the part where you've been working for him. Maybe you're not guilty of planning this, but you're still an accomplice. You're on the wrong side."

"And yet here I am _at your side_ telling you this, offering to help. Belatedly, yes, but I could have chosen not to tell you at all. Does that mean so little to you?" Desperation again, so heavy that Loki's voice cracks.

"Jesus Christ, what _difference_ does it make what I think?" Tony snaps.

Loki doesn't answer.

Tony breathes out, hard, and hangs a left turn onto Cecil's street. It's a narrow street, a typical long row of brownstones, all the same gray-brown brick with concrete staircases and wrought iron railings. Trees sprout out of the sidewalk here and there, giving the morning street a quaint dappled look. Cecil got paid well, but according to him his alimony payments were a bitch – which reminds Tony somebody ought to get in touch with his ex-wife – so he lived in the middle of some nondescript brown apartment building on some nondescript street in a very nondescript neighborhood.

Regret like a weight on his shoulders because, as he circles around to look for a place to park, it occurs to him that, as usual, he said exactly the wrong thing.

He finally finds a parking spot and squeezes his car into it.

Shuts the car off, turns, and says, "What changed your mind? Why did you tell me?"

"It doesn't matter, Stark." Petulant, surly, childish. Loki still doesn't look around. "Does it?"

"All right, okay. You don't want to take the blame for the part that's not your fault. I get that. Believe me, if anybody gets that, I do." He does. Does he ever. "You're willing to step up and take responsibility for what you did. You're willing to help. That's good. It does matter.

"Thing is, where I have trouble is you've known as long as you have and you haven't brought it up before now. So I have to wonder what changed your mind. I mean, you've been working for him all this time, and now all of a sudden you've decided to switch sides. Why? If I'm going to sell this to everybody, and believe me, I will, just tell me why."

Loki shifts around so he's leaning back against the door, so he's facing Tony. "Is it," he says, watching Tony with hooded green eyes, "so inconceivable to think I might not have been working for him at all?"

"...no. Yes. I don't know. Maybe."

A snort of a chuckle. "Which is it?"

"If you weren't working for him at all, why not bring this to us sooner?"

"It never occurred to me." Long fingers find their way up to rub the back of his neck. "I planned to deal with him myself once I had possession of the Wizard's Eye."

"And how'd that work out for you?"

"Thanos is still alive, he has possession of the Eye, and I have no way to retrieve it until he deigns to return it to me." Loki's sudden grin is full of self-deprecating humor. "On the whole, I'd say it worked out rather splendidly. Wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yeah." Tony can't help an answering grin. "Just great."

There's a pause during which Loki's grin fades and he sobers again, eyes darkening like clouds rolling across the sun. "It's in case I fail."

Tony frowns. "What is?"

"My reason for telling you," Loki replies. "If I fail, you will at least know what you're up against."

"Oh," Tony says. "So you were just gonna leave us to clean up your mess."

Loki shrugs. "More or less."

"Typical."

"Indeed."

Tony, thinking, watches a car drift on by. "So, um. You're on our side now, huh?" It's a loose thread he can't quite keep from pulling.

"I'm sorry?" Theres a frown in Loki's voice.

"You said you were on our side now."

"At, not on. There is a difference."

"That being?"

Loki takes an audible breath and says, cool as high mountain lakes, "I will help you as much as I can with this, but do not think for a moment it means I intend to change my ways. I have no desire to fall in line or repent or become like you. Should we survive this, there is a chance we will end up at cross purposes again. And should that happen..."

"What, you'll 'end me,' if it comes down to it? Like in those dreams you seem to like so much?" Tony shakes his head. "Don't threaten me."

"It wasn't intended as a threat. I wasn't even implying I would end you. How often have you told me I couldn't be one of you if I tried? Too much blood on my slate, wasn't that how you put it? I told you I had no intention of trying to clean it off. That I am aiding you now does not change that. That is all I was saying. And we have wasted quite enough time here. Should we not go?"

"Yeah," Tony says. "Yeah, we should." He doesn't quite reach for the door handle yet, though. Instead, he meets Loki's still-cloudy gaze without flinching and says, "Well, since we're being honest here, if it turns out you're in any way screwing around with me on this whole Thanos thing, I will absolutely follow through on my plan to stick as many of those anti-magic things on you as I can and let Hulk go nuts. Just so we're clear."

"I believe we are," Loki says at last.

And, god, is so not how Tony wanted this conversation to go, but it's his own fucking fault: he just had to pull at that thread. "Good," he says. "Then, like you said, we've wasted enough time here. We have work to do. Come, Watson," he adds as he pushes open his door. "The game's afoot."

Loki stares at him, frowning in apparent confusion.

Tony just laughs, maybe a little hysterically, and climbs out of the car.

xXx

Cecil's apartment is on the second floor, and it doesn't take them long to get in.

Turns out, magic is kind of handy for breaking locks.

Same apartment Tony remembers from a couple years ago: clean and organized, not a thing out of place. Impersonal. Sleek, modern polished to a mirror shine, store-bought prints hung ruler-straight on the walls, books arranged in alphabetical order, everything in straight lines and symmetrical. No photos of any family anywhere. Cecil was the antithesis of a slob. He was actually a bit of a germophobe, which, oddly enough, was why he'd kept his head shaved.

Odd, Tony muses as he and Loki split up to begin looking around, the things you remember about people when they're gone.

It's just as strange as it feels to be walking through somebody's place when they're not there.

Doing it after finding out they've been murdered is even worse: Tony has a case of the creepy-crawlies, like he's going to run in to Cecil's ghost or something.

If any ghost would have a right to be pissed off, it's his.

And for no reason at all, Tony finds himself wondering, just for a second, about what ever happened to Dallas. If this was the kid's fate, too.

Because it's bad enough that Cecil had to die. If the kid did, too...

Somebody is going to pay for this.

Thing is, there is a computer and a cell phone here, right on the kitchen table. But when he turns them on, he finds they, like the ones they'd found at the kid's place, are blank. There's nothing on either of them. They're brand new, and Tony can't help shaking his head over that.

Why bother putting them there at all?

He's still mulling that one over when Loki calls to him from the bedroom.

He finds Loki in the closet – _heh_ – standing over a floor safe, which he says he found under the carpet. The safe is closed, but the door is sitting crookedly in the frame, and when Tony reaches down, he's able to just lift the door out completely. It had been taken off altogether and set back in.

Sloppy.

The safe itself is empty, except for one thing: a plain beige file folder.

Tony picks it up and opens it.

There's maybe two dozen pages inside, but it's the top page that catches his attention. It's a single typed paragraph that reads: "_N.O. took something precious from me so I would take something precious from you. Don't know why he wants what I gave him, but I think it has something to do with what's here. I got them from him. Don't let him get away with it."_

There's no signature, but Tony, flashing on the words '_Family. Sorry._' from a balled up note yesterday – _yesterday? Was that all it was? Jesus – _doesn't need one.

Tony looks at the pages behind the typed sheet, and for the second time in the past two hours, he feels like a freight train has slammed into his chest. His heart really does feel like it's going to beat itself to death against the inside of the arc reactor.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters, his hand clenching around the file. "_Son of a bitch_."

xXx

Short of actually running anybody over or hitting other vehicles, Tony manages to break just about every possible traffic law he can on the way over to the mansion. It's a silent, tense ride, with a pale, wide-eyed Loki holding on for dear life in the passenger's seat as Tony weaves and darts through traffic like some starving mosquito on the hunt for blood.

Tony's brain is buzzing with so many things – questions and problems and more questions – that it's all he can even do to focus on keeping all four tires on the road, and, yeah, maybe he should have called Happy and had him drive. He can't even gather his wits enough to _talk_, let alone operate a vehicle, and, yeah, this is a fucking clusterfuck of a situation right here.

Luckily, there are no cops around to stop them, and they make it to the mansion in one piece.

They head into the mansion and find that everyone waiting for them in the kitchen, including, to Tony's surprise, Tasha and Bruce, who are clustered together with Thor by the refrigerator, while Steve and – again, to Tony's surprise and displeasure – Nick Fury stand by the island.

Tony draws up short on seeing them all, stopping so abruptly Loki nearly runs into him.

"You're here," Tony blurts at Bruce as Loki slides past him. "I thought you were at the hospital. With Clint. Why are you here?"

Bruce blinks. "Steve said this couldn't wait."

"Yeah, but who's with Clint?" Given what's in the file, it's a pretty fucking reasonable question. Steve's always mother henning that they shouldn't be alone, and now, more than ever, that's true.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. agents," Fury says, his voice barreling through Tony's racing thoughts like a battering ram. "I'm having him moved to a secure facility as we speak."

"Okay," Tony says. He finally leaves the doorway and moves to stand across the island from Steve and Fury. It puts him between them and Loki. "Okay, that – good. That's good."

"You all right?" Steve asks. "You look spooked. And I'm sorry about Cecil. This – what a mess." He's all quiet strength and quiet sincerity, big baby blues looking on him with compassion and sympathy.

Tony's brain is still spinning way too fast for the sentiment to penetrate in anything but the most superficial way, but he smiles briefly and nods to at least acknowledge that he's heard it. To show he appreciates the thought. Because he's sure he will at some point. "Yeah, fine," he says. "Thanks."

"We're going to get to the bottom of this, I swear."

_If the world doesn't end before then_, Tony thinks, and he thinks sees that same thought reflected in every pair of eyes in the room.

Even in Fury's eye. The big man, black-clad and cool and bad ass as ever, shifts and says, "So we're here. What the fuck is going on? Why is he here?" He flicks his chin at Loki, who glares back at him with undisguised disdain.

"Because he's the one with all the information," Tony says. "We'll get to that. I need to ask you about something else first." He slaps the file down on the island and slides it over. "We stopped over at Cecil's place on the way over here, and I found this."

"What is it?" Fury casts a wary look at the folder.

"Tom Andrews left it for me." His weasel-faced CEO, who, as it turns out, is not actually such a weasel after all. "Would you mind explaining to me how the _fuck_ Norman Osborn got his hands on these?" He flips past the note and to the copies of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s personality profiles of all the Avengers, and – more importantly – to the copies of the lab results for the tranquilizer serum S.H.I.E.L.D. had developed for Bruce. "These are _your_ files. Your _test results_. He has these. Did you give them to him?"

Tony hears rather than sees the others gather around the island. Hears Steve say, in a quiet, startled voice, "Director? What is this?"

"No," Fury says. "We didn't give them to him."

"Then how did he get them?" Tony asks.

"I don't know."

"You're lying," Loki says quietly from Tony's left.

"Yeah, yeah, you are," Tasha says from Tony's right.

Fury's one eye sweeps over both of them in a glare that could have melted sand into glass. "We didn't give them to him. But we have had hackers come after us by the dozen in the past few months. A couple of them got through long enough that they could have accessed and copied those files. We caught 'em all, but the only thing they ever said was they were just trying to show us the holes in our security system."

"So this-" Tony points at the file "-could have been them."

"These are our files," Fury says. "So yeah."

"Were they working alone or did somebody pay them?"

"We never found any evidence to suggest they were being paid, and believe me, we watched." He holds up a hand. "Look, I know at least one of you is gonna ask me why we didn't tell you, and the answer is because we didn't know if they actually took anything. They were good. Covered their tracks so well we couldn't tell if anything had been accessed."

"So you decided to assume nothing had been?" Tasha asks, and her mouth is a hard line.

Fury shoots her another glare. "Like I said, we couldn't tell. But now we know. So, yeah, we can lean on them now. You're welcome to be there for it."

Tasha, small and fiery and red-headed, smiles a scary-bright smile and says, "You're playing my song, Director."

"Okay hang on a second," Bruce interjects. He's on Tasha's other side, between her and Thor, and he's frowning at Tony in confusion. "Osborn is the one who _told_ you your arc reactor plans got stolen, right?"

"Yeah, he did," Tony says. He knows where this is going already – is already _there_ – but decides to let Bruce put the question out there.

And Bruce does. "Why the hell would he say anything to you? I mean, why bring it to your attention at all? Because he put himself on your radar doing that, and you'd think if he was up to something, that would be the last thing he'd want to do."

"I agree," Steve says, and he looks just as confused as Bruce. "If he didn't tell you your arc reactor plans got stolen, you never would have known, would you? You wouldn't have started investigating."

"No," Tony says. "No, I wouldn't have. And that's the part I don't get, either."

"Perhaps he thought it wouldn't be traced back to him." This a quiet statement from Loki, and every head in the room swivels to look at him. Loki shifts, but keeps his attention fixed on Tony. "Perhaps he thought that by bringing it to your attention and making it seem like not only was he helping you but also himself, you wouldn't suspect his involvement."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Something you've done?"

The barest flicker of a nod, a tiny smirk, and, "It's more effective than you'd expect." He does not look at Thor as he say this. "Particularly if he was able to control where you looked."

"Which he did, at first," Tony says. "Jesus, he sent me running straight after my own people." Still, though, he can't help shaking his head, frowning. "I still don't get why he'd tell me, though. That doesn't make any sense."

"Hubris?" Loki suggests, eyebrows raised. "There are those who, even when they're trying to avoid detection, can't help pointing out your misfortune. It's their way of showing off, of proving their superiority. They hold information you don't." An easy shrug, dark-clad shoulders lifting and falling like a rolling wave. "It's either that or he is as innocent as you."

Tony eyes him. "You don't think that."

Loki shakes his head. "It's not a terribly satisfactory explanation, I'll grant you-"

"-but it fits." Tony huffs a sigh. "Yeah. So I guess the question is, if this is him, what's his game? He's got my arc reactor plans, he's got our personnel files, he's got the means to control Hulk, he's got his fingers in my company..."

"As interesting as this all is," Loki says then, "it does not actually matter at the moment. We have a more pressing issue. Thanos."

"Oh," Tony says, blinking. "Yeah. That. Huh. Maybe you'd better start talking. Yeah. You should do that."

xXx

Stark, to Loki's mild amusement, blinks like a newly-awakened sleeper. As if he had forgotten the real reason they had come here. "Oh. Yeah. That. Huh. Maybe you'd better start talking. Yeah. You should do that." He says this in that odd rapid-fire manner he tends to use when his mind is moving too fast. It must, Loki has time to muse, be exhausting to be him.

"Yes," Loki says, at last looking away. "Perhaps I should."

Having all the eyes on the room on him, he discovers, especially all these eyes, with their self-righteousness and disdain and outright disbelief, makes him feel like a specimen under glass. He does not mince words as he gives them a curtailed version of what he'd told Stark earlier.

Hedging his bets, in a manner of speaking, and it's a convenient, if unexpected, consequence:

If by some miracle, Stark and his people are able to repel Thanos's invasion and he is able to destroy Thanos with the Eye, then he wins. If not, if the Avengers fall but Loki still winds up with the Eye, he still wins. As long as he can secure the Eye and all its power (and, oh, he can still hear it calling to him, its sweet voice muted by the distance), he cannot lose.

In truth, he does not care if Thor and Stark's people fall.

Stark would be well rid of them, in any case. They are nothing but useless weight, mindless fighters, and Stark himself seems to have gone out of his way to avoid become close to them. A man of Stark's intellect and drive would be a force to be reckoned with, a powerful ally, if only he could be convinced to free himself from the dead weight he has assembled around him.

If only.

Loki does not see that happening, not in this lifetime, and so, as he finishes speaking, he allows the thought to pass.

After the last word fades, silence steals like a thief over the room, creeping into the corners and stretching out its awkward fingers.

Loki studies each face around him, in turn, and sees variations on the theme of disbelief: lowered eyebrows, crossed arms, closed faces, and – in Fury's case – outright hostility.

It takes time, but eventually the questions come, those rude and inconvenient things, and none different from Stark's own earlier this morning: "How do we know we can even believe you?" "Why are you telling us this now?" "Why did you wait so long?" And on and on in a seemingly endless litany.

Stark steps in to answer most of them himself, and Loki is all too happy to let him.

The question no one asks – either because it never occurs to them or because they don't quite dare – is why Loki went to Stark with this first, and Loki finds he is almost disappointed by that.

He would have liked to have seen how Stark danced around that one.

Finally, though, finally the idiot sheep ringing Stark's kitchen island stop bleating stupid questions and start asking questions that show their willingness to actually entertain the idea that Loki isn't playing some elaborate prank.

He wishes he was, in a way.

It is Rogers, bright-faced and earnest, who says, "Okay, so, let's just say for the sake of argument that this is actually going to happen."

"Yes, let's do that," Stark says, and Loki doesn't even try to disguise his smirk.

Rogers ignores them both. "Assuming this is really going to happen, that we really do have some enormous army about to come down on us _again_, what do we do about it?" He turns to Fury. "Could you make some phone calls? Because, I mean, the five of us against – Loki, how many did you say there were?"

"Tens of thousands, easily," Loki replies. "I have not seen the full extent of it, but I know it is vast. And there are six."

"Six," Rogers says. "Sorry, I wasn't sure if you were..." He takes a breath and offers a sheepish, apologetic look. "I didn't mean to imply you weren't going to help. But even so," he says, turning hastily back to Fury, "six of us versus tens of thousands? We're going to need some help."

Fury turns a jaundiced eye on Loki, but before he can say a word, Thor speaks for the first time. "Loki," he says, his troubled gaze heavy on Loki's, "you have to open a portal to bring them here, do you not? Could you simply refuse to do so? Deny them the means to come here."

"I could," Loki says. "Yes, I absolutely could. However, they have ships, and they are not very far from here. He does not have enough ships to bring his entire army here, but he has enough that he could bring a sizable force here. It might delay him a few days, That," he adds, "and he still has the Wizard's Eye. It would be a small matter to find a sorcerer capable of using it to create a portal. Again, it is a matter of days."

"Plus, he'd know you screwed him," Stark puts in. "And we would have no way to know when or where the attack is coming."

"We don't know either of those things _now_," Fury says. "Anything that delays this guy – even if it's by a few days – is good, in my book."

Banner looks back and forth between Fury and Stark, his mouth pulled tight, as he says, "Yeah, but if we knew when and where, maybe we'd have a chance to catch him by surprise." Loki is again struck by how odd it is that such a small-statured, mild human could have such a potent monster hidden inside. There are no traces of the monster present at the moment.

"I'm not disagreeing with that," Fury says. "I'm just saying we're missing some key information there." Once more, that distrustful, dark look comes Loki's way. "Unless you're holding out on us."

"I am not," Loki tells him. "I have told you everything I know."

"Hey, could you go ask him?" Stark asks just then. As if he was simply asking for the time.

Loki, thinking Stark has made a jest, chuckles. "Of course I could. I am certain he would be delighted to tell me the plans he has thus far gone out of his way to avoid telling me."

Stark doesn't smile. "But you could ask anyway. Couldn't you?"

"Stark..."

"I'm just saying. You never know until you try."

It's on Loki's tongue to protest that he has very nearly lost his life every time he has dared step foot in Thanos's command room. It's on his tongue to point out that Thanos despises him, and that Thanos does not actually need him.

On the other hand, if he is going to secure the Eye, if he is going to take Thanos down, he needs Thanos to continue to want to use him. And the Avengers, whether they know it or now, have just given him the means to do so.

Not that he wants to have to play it this way, of course, because of the risk involved every time he steps foot on Thanos's vicinity, but this might actually work in his favor. Still, he does not attempt to pretend to be anything but reluctant. "No," he admits. "I suppose not. I cannot guarantee I will be able to obtain the information you want. As I said, he has not been forthcoming."

"Well, we'll cross that bridge once we get to it," Rogers assures him. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Loki blinks at him, once again taken aback by the man's apparent concern. "Yes," he says. "I can't see that we have anything to lose at this point."

"In the meantime," Thor puts in, straightening and moving away from the island, "I will return to Asgard. I will see if my father would be willing to send some assistance." He pauses, though, and glances over at Loki. "It would be good if you came with me before you go to see this Thanos. To explain this. Perhaps Father will be swayed if he sees you are trying to help."

"I'll pass, thank you," Loki says. Thor, he thinks, really is a fool. "Odin would do nothing more than order my immediate capture and throw me back in that damned cell. I will not go back."

"But you should go, Thor," Rogers says quickly. It's as if he thinks he's stepping in to head off a fight. "That's a good idea."

"Yeah, it is, big guy," Stark says, nodding. "If we can get some help from above, then I'm all for it."

Thor gives Loki one last troubled look, nods, and says, "Very well, my friends. I shall go now." And with that, he turns to leave.

"Guess that's my cue to start making some calls," Fury says. The one-eyed man looks disgruntled about it, as he, too, moves off to a corner of the room.

"I will go, too," Loki says. May as well get it over with, so he'll have at least a little time to heal should this go badly. "Soonest begun, and so forth."

Any excuse to get away from this place.

Stark, standing next to him, says, "I'll walk you out," and proceeds to lead him out of the kitchen down out to the front door, as if he was expecting Loki to simply walk out rather than use magic to transport himself away.

He pauses in the entryway and turns, back to the door, to face Loki.

He is a mottled mess, is Stark, his face still covered in fresh cuts and bruises from his attack yesterday and not-quite healed bruises from all his previous battles. Seeing the way he'd limped around earlier this morning made Loki wish, idly, that he knew more of healing magics than he did, because Stark apparently had as much need for it as Loki himself.

Although Stark's people – save Fury – all still show signs that they have been in recent battles, none of them are as damaged as Stark.

_Magnet for trouble_, Stark would say with an utterly reckless smile, as if it is something he enjoys.

He probably does, Loki thinks, and it's a disquieting thought.

Stark pauses around the corner, turns, looks up to meet Loki's gaze.

It's a curious thing, Loki again has time to think, that he has managed to become attached in any way to this mortal imbecile. This utter idiot, who is both stupid and brave enough to continue rising even though his entire world appears to be conspiring to tear him down. This blind fool, who manages to remain alone in a crowd of people who wish befriend and help him, and who instead chooses to pass his time with an enemy.

Such a complicated creature for a member of such a simplistic species.

Which, admittedly, is no small part of his appeal.

Even the expression on his face is complicated, layers and layers of things in his eyes that Loki cannot even begin to puzzle out.

Stark says, quietly, "I know I'm asking a lot here, but whatever you can get for us, please do."

Loki, who had been expecting him to say something else, frowns. "Yes, of course," he says. "That is my intention."

"Okay, good," Stark says. "Thanks. See you when you get back."

Before Stark can walk away, Loki reaches over to touch his stubbled cheek, or perhaps to caress that lovely hollow below his jaw, just one small touch before he goes off on this fool's errand, just in case-

-but stops, hand still in the air between them, when Stark flinches back, shakes his head, says quietly, "Don't." His eyes are wide and intent and are practically screaming 'no.'

..._ah_.

Loki, jaw and stomach clenching, lets his hand drop, looks away, steps back.

_So this is where it ends, then_, he thinks wearily.

Or had it ended earlier, in the car, and he had simply not noticed? Or was it before even then, when he had told Stark of Thanos's plans?

Either way, it was, he supposes, foolish of him to think whatever guttering spark they had managed to make between them could survive any of it.

Foolish of him to think it actually mattered.

Steeling himself, dismissing it from mind, he summons his magic to him and says, "I should go."

"Wait," Stark says.

But Loki twitches his hand and lets his magic carry him away before Stark can say anything else.

xXx

Some two hours later, clad in his full armor and with his staff in hand, Loki materializes at the edge of Thanos's command room.

A wise decision, this, as it turns out there are now some twenty soldiers guarding the room. One spots him and proceeds to send up an alarm. Before Loki can so much as blink, he finds himself surrounded. The burly, blank-faced soldiers, each wearing the same black uniform and each just a bit smaller than Thanos, have weapons trained on him.

Thanos himself appears, massive and menacing, arms folded over his chest, eyes all cold fire. The Other lingers just behind him.

"Godling," he says, and for a wonder he sounds more curious and wary than angry. "It is not yet time to begin the invasion. Why have you come?"

Loki eyes the ring of guards, bows his head, and says, quietly, "I'm aware it's not yet time, and I apologize for appearing unannounced like this. I was hoping I could speak with you, if you have a moment. I have something – two things – I wished to discuss."

Thanos's wicked grin is ghastly in its glinting amusement. "So you do possess a civilized tongue."

"I do, yes," Loki replies. "Sometimes I need to be reminded."

"Indeed." Thanos motions the guards away. "Leave us. He is no danger."

The guards snap to attention, form a pair of neat lines, and march out of the room, leaving Loki alone with Thanos and his pet.

"Come, godling!" Thanos says in a tone that, from anyone else, Loki would have said sounded jovial. On Thanos it is bright, manic, mad. "Since you are here, allow me to show you a part of what you will be bringing to Earth."

With the Other trailing behind like the cur he is, Thanos leads the way to a monitor, where he shows Loki images of one enormous ship and two smaller ones, hangars full of shuttles and smaller flying vehicles and armor and weapons of every size and shape imaginable, and what must be a hundred thousand soldiers. It's an army that dwarfs the Chitauri's army in virtually every way conceivable.

Seeing it all, Loki understands why Thanos seems untroubled.

That is the kind of army that inspires confidence.

"Impressive," Loki remarks. It truly is. "What will you do when you've won? Do you intend to rule? Or will you simply sacrifice the planet to your lady?"

"There are riches on Earth, godling, that are ripe for the taking," Thanos replies as he turns away from the monitor. He walks over to one of the room's many windows and looks out on the stars. "Resources that make the planet itself far more valuable than all of its inhabitants. It will remain whole, and I will establish a base for my fleet there."

"So it's the planet you're really after," Loki muses. "What will you do with the humans?"

"There are those few among the humans who have already agreed to work for me. The rest I will enslave and put to work for my fleet. Any who resist I will send to Lady Death." He says this as if it is a mere formality, as if it is no concern. "You wished to speak to me."

"I did, yes." Loki adjusts his helmet. "The Avengers know you're coming. That is to say, I told them that the invasion was coming." He holds up a hand. "It was only so they would believe I had turned on you. So they would believe I wanted to aid them. I was asked to come here and find out where you plan to have me launch the attack. So they can have a force ready to meet you."

"And you came," Thanos says stonily.

"So I did," Loki replies, "although the actual reason I came here was to clarify what will happen to me once you've conquered Earth."

Fiery eyes narrow. "Explain."

"After you have conquered Earth and after I have destroyed the Avengers, I wish one thing and one thing only: to be allowed to leave with the Eye. I will find another realm to occupy and leave M-Earth to its own devices."

Every word of it is the truth: when all is said and done, when the dust has settled, and assuming he has survived, he will go elsewhere. There is no reason for him to remain on Earth.

With the Eye in hand, the universe will be open to him.

Thanos finally says, "As long as you swear you will not return, then I will allow you to go."

"Oh, I'll swear."

"So be it."

"Thank you." Loki straightens, adjusts his cape. "If you wish I could give the Avengers a false attack location."

Thanos says, his voice rumbling like an earthquake, "We will attack the place Mephisto started his attacks. I am told that is where we will find many of the humans' leaders."

Loki nods. "That is correct."

"Tell me, godling, why did you want them to think you'd turned on me?"

"It amused me," Loki says with a shrug. "I want to see the looks on their faces when they've realized that I've betrayed them. When they realize how foolish they were to trust me in the first place. That," he adds, in tones of indifference, "and I thought it would make things more convenient for you to have the resistance in one place. You'll be able to crush it all at once. You'll be able to break the humans that much faster."

It neither sounds nor feels like a lie, not a word of it, but Loki doesn't allow himself to worry on it too deeply, not now, not yet.

Grinning his terrible madman's grin once again, Thanos says, "That is not a bad plan, godling. Do it. Tell them that I will come in two days' time. You come to me then, and we will crush them."

Loki grins, too.

Soon, he thinks, soon everything will burn.

Everything.

xXx

When he is in Jotun form, Loki always feels a peculiar sense of cold stillness fall over him.

It's as if everything in him becomes buried under a thick layer of ice and snow. Nothing can reach him. He is a frozen-over lake, a frosted-over field, impenetrable and untouchable.

As much as he despises that monster, there are times when he finds comfort in its cold.

Has even, to some extent, begun to learn how to channel it to his Asgardian form.

Now, for example, as he approaches Stark's mansion, still wearing his battle armor and carrying his staff, he can feel it, a frozen layer between what happened before he left to see Thanos and what happened during, insulating and calming.

The mansion's front door is snatched open before he has even made that far.

Stark, of course, and Loki does not allow himself to wonder if Stark was waiting for him. It does not matter. "You're back!" Stark says.

"I am," Loki replies, looking everywhere but at Stark's face.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, fine. I was quite successful." He tries to walk through the open door.

Stark grabs his arm. "Hey."

Loki pulls away, gently, and is careful to avoid eye contact. "I have news, Stark," he says without inflection. "It can't wait."

"Not even long enough for me to say I'm sorry?" Stark asks.

That gives Loki pause, but he remains still, staring at a point over Stark's shoulder. "For what?"

Before Stark can answer that, Banner and Rogers emerge from around a corner, the pair of them drawing up short when they see Loki, their faces freezing into identical – comical – expressions of wariness. They look as if they have come unexpectedly upon a wild animal and are uncertain what is about to happen.

Stark, ignoring them, touches Loki's arm again and says, "Look, just – after you're done, we'll talk, okay? It'll just take a second."

Loki finally glances at him, and is surprised to see what looks like genuine remorse, like actual contrition, in Stark's eyes. Even as Stark's hand drops away, something in Loki thaws out a little bit, just a touch. He nods his understanding as he slips past Stark. Only that, but as he passes, he doesn't miss Stark's little smile.

As he sweeps past Rogers and Banner – ignoring them both – he removes his helmet. Damned heavy thing, anyway. He's glad to be able to set it down on a counter.

The woman – Romanov – is already there waiting, as is Fury. Loki leans back against the counter, crosses his arms, and waits for Stark and the others to file past and take their various places around the room. Thor, he notices, is still not there.

Loki finds he is not disappointed by that.

"So I see you made it out alive," Fury says. He sounds vaguely disappointed.

Loki, nodding, has to fight down a sudden urge to pluck out the man's lone eye.

"Any luck?" Rogers asks.

"I was successful," Loki replies. He makes eye contact with each of them, briefly, but does not allow his gaze to linger on any one person. "The attack will occur two days from now in the came city as Mephisto's attacks. At roughly this time. He has an army of at least a hundred thousand soldiers. Ships, weapons, everything."

"So what happens if you don't show up to open his portal?" Fury asks.

"He takes part of his army, gets into his ships, and flies here anyway. That, or he finds himself someone else capable of opening a portal. The attack will be delayed by a few days at most, but it will not be stopped. I am afraid it is too far along."

Stark is across the kitchen, standing between Rogers and Banner. He is bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited child, and as soon as Loki finishes speaking he says, speaking fast, "We had an idea. Well, Bruce did, but – I mean, it's so obvious we should have thought of it sooner. I wish we'd thought about it before we sent you today because we could have-"

"Stark!"Loki snaps, not bothering to check his exasperation. "Kindly make your point."

"-ended it." Star pauses and gives Loki a long look. A _wounded_ look, and it's all Loki can do not to roll his own eyes.

"The Chitauri."

"Yeah, them." He continues to fidget, fingers of one hand tapping his leg. "We were just thinking why couldn't we just send one back with you? You drop it off with Thanos and set it off right before you leave. Problem solved."

"I still say hell no," Fury says before Loki can get a word in edgewise. "No way I'm trusting this guy with a nuke."

Loki blinks. "I'm sorry, what is a 'nuke'?"

He never does find out.

A tremendous surge of wild magical energy barrels into him with the approximate force of Mjolnir. It hits him from the side and sends him flying headfirst toward a wall. He manages to get his hands up in time to keep from smashing his head, but he gets tangled up in his cloak and ends up on the floor anyway, in an altogether untidy and undignified sprawl of limbs.

It barely registers.

That surge.

"No," he says, wide-eyed and stunned, staring off to the west, where he can feel an absolutely massive tear in the dimensional wall. Its energy signature is dishearteningly familiar. "_No_."

_How could I have been so stupid_?

He'd never actually seen Thanos kill Mephisto, had he?

And suddenly he's aware of a ring of faces around him, hovering.

One in particular: graying dark hair, a graying beard, dark eyes so intense they seem to be lit by some wild inner fire. It's those Loki latches onto.

Stark's. And Stark who says, "What happened? What's wrong?"

And Loki suddenly wants to laugh, wants to throw his head back and just howl. Because it's funny. It's the biggest joke in the universe.

_I want to see their faces when I betray them_, he'd said, confidently.

If Thanos could see his face now...

"Loki?" Stark again. Insistent.

Loki blinks. Takes a breath. Makes himself focus on nothing but those dark, dark eyes. "Thanos lied to me," he tells them. "The attack isn't happening in two days.

"It's happening now."

xXx

A/N: No lyrics this time – just three instrumental tracks that served as my soundtrack for this chapter: "Michael Meets Mozart," "MoonLight" and "Bourne Vivaldi" by The Piano Guys. If you can, check them out on YouTube. So awesome. Thanks for reading.


	16. This war, it rages in me

15. **"Leave no light on; this war, it rages in me. Leave no light on; this war, I fear it won't end. Leave no light on; this war rages."**

High above a city that's just about to learn what it's like to lose everything, a small, narrow-faced man with thinning brown hair stands stunned and dumb-struck and terrified in his penthouse's doorway.

The bodies of his wife and daughter are cold at his feet, pale and bloodless, wrapped in one final, awful embrace.

"You thought I wouldn't know?" a rasping voice demands from the darkness. "You thought I didn't have somebody following you everywhere you went?"

Tom Andrews, trembling violently, doesn't look away from his wife and daughter. "Why didn't you stop me, then?" he asks in this flat, lifeless voice. "If you knew what I was doing, why let me?"

"Because what you did doesn't matter," the voice rasps. "Stark knowing changes nothing. It never did."

"You have no idea how much Stark knows," Andrews says. "What he's capable of. He'll get you, you know." For a moment, at least, his voice firms, strengthens. "One way or another, he'll get you."

Around them, the building starts to shake. Sound of an explosion outside. Flashes of white in the windows like lighting ripping across the night-dark sky.

The voice laughs, uneasy and manic. "It doesn't matter now."

The sound of a gunshot rings out across the room; it's a flat noise that seems small and inconsequential against the sounds of the world beyond the walls.

And the quiet thump of Tom Andrews' lifeless body hitting the floor seems even smaller.

An afterthought, nothing important.

Something Norman Osborn forgets as soon as he turns away and walks out the door.

Because the city is _howling_ around him.

They're here.

They are _here_, and now it's time to go to work.

xXx

In a place far removed from such trifling mortal concerns, Thor stands horror-struck before his mother's bed, staring at a figure he almost does not recognize.

The normally soft-faced and glowing woman he remembers as his mother has been reduced to a mere shadow of herself, thin-boned and angular and hollow-cheeked. She was never a large woman, his mother, but always there was an aura of robust health about her, of quiet strength. Even that is gone now: as she lies on the bed, her dark-ringed eyes closed and hair lank around her face, she seems fragile, pale, as if she would crack at the merest touch.

Thor turns uncomprehending eyes on his father. "I have been away a matter days," he says, near to choking on his fury. "How has she come to be like this?"

Odin has always looked old to Thor, wizened and weathered like ancient stones, but he has never seemed old, never seemed worn. There is a heaviness about him as he lifts his head and fixes his one weary blue eye on Thor's. "She has become lost in her dreams," he says at last. Even his voice is heavy. "Three days ago, they began to plague her while waking. Since then, she has slipped further and further into them. Every effort we have made to pull her out appears to send her deeper."

"Why did you not send for me, Father? Why was I not told?"

"There is nothing you could do for her, Thor."

"I could be here for her. Is she being controlled? If so, I would seek out those responsible and-"

"You would abandon your protection of Midgard to do this?" Odin says over him.

Thor lifts his chin. "You yourself have said my first duty is to Asgard and her people."

"It is," Odin says. "But it is also your duty to protect the Nine Realms – any or all of them – should something befall them. That is why you are here, is it not?"

"Yes," Thor admits. "There is an attack imminent against Midgard. A Titan named Thanos has raised an army and is seeking to conquer it. I had hoped to return with some means to assist them in the defense. Or perhaps a way to stop the attack entirely. But-"

"But?"

"Father..." Thor looks again at his mother, at her pale and fragile figure, and shakes his head. "_Is_ there anything to be done for her?"

"What can be is," Odin replies quietly. "I have healers and sorcerers both searching for a way to return her to us. I have sought her myself, and will continue to do so."

Frigga shifts on her pillows, her face tightening as if she is in pain. Thor reaches over and touches her hand, feeling, as he does, as lost as a small child.

"Come," Odin says quietly, turning away from the bed. "Let us disturb her no longer." That heaviness in his shoulders, a subtle downward slump under gilt robes as Odin moves to usher Thor out of the room. "When last we spoke," he says, "I told you that it would be on you the burden of leadership falls. Do you remember?"

Thor squints down the dim-lit corridor. "You said many things when last we spoke, Father."

Odin pauses, glances over with a hooded eye. "Yes. I suppose I did. I was harsher than I should have been, I think. You were doing only as you were told, and had not, as I had feared, strayed from that. But that is neither here nor there. This attack troubles me."

"As it does me, Father." Whether it was here or there or not, Thor can't help feeling at least a little mollified by the implied apology. "This Thanos, from what Loki said, means to conquer Earth any way he can. I do not trust Loki, but I do agree that for the sake of everyone on Earth, this attack must be stopped."

"You are wise not to trust him," Odin murmurs. "But you should have brought him here."

"Yes, I should have," Thor admits. "I should not have allowed him to tell me no. But I cannot take that back now, and there are more important concerns. What can be done for Earth?"

As much as he would like to stay to try to help his mother, he finds he cannot truly justify abandoning Earth in its time of need.

Odin's expression, as he looks on, is one of sorrow and pride.

He does not, however, have a chance to answer, as a guard hurries around a corner with a simple, urgent message from Heimdall:

"The attack on Midgard has begun."

Horror-struck and furious once more, Thor turns to his father, who merely raises an eyebrow and says, softly, "It is time for you to go, my son."

xXx

"So what's the game plan here?" Tony asks. "It would be helpful to have one."

They're in the quinjet, the five of them – the four remaining Avengers and Loki, whom Tony had all but tackled to keep from running off once he'd dropped the "hey, you're being invaded now, and oh, by the way, I think Mephisto is still alive _and _he's also just opened another massive tear!" bombshells on them, the bastard – and sailing straight into the heart of darkness.

It's only mid-afternoon, maybe four o'clock, but save for one light burning halfway across the sky, it is as black as night outside. It's as if the sun itself has been ripped out of the sky, along with the moon and the stars. The sky is just _black_, inky black, and nothing else.

The inside of the quinjet is dark, too, save the green glow from Tasha's instrument panels and the dim yellow glow from a couple of not-nearly-bright-enough overhead lights.

It makes everybody's face seem washed out, shadowy, haunted.

The truth is, they'd left the mansion with absolutely no idea what they were doing.

Hell, nobody had even wanted to believe Loki, not at first, because telling them the attack was coming in two days and then it starting immediately afterward sounded just like something Reindeer Games would do for shits and grins.

And that I've-come-completely-unhinged way he'd sat there laughing right after he told them all that didn't help his case any.

Except he'd gone icy-furious as soon as the laughter passed, and when he'd stood up and explained what he thought happened – he wasn't entirely _sure _about anything except Mephisto opening up the tear; he was just guessing about it being the start of the invasion – it became pretty clear it _was_ a joke, only Loki himself had been the one on whom the joke had been played. And to say he was unhappy about that development was a little like saying Bruce had a bit of an anger-management issue.

Then the ground had started shaking, and Fury's phone had started shrieking, the sky had gone black, and if they hadn't been convinced before then, well, they were pretty much were after that.

And now, some twenty minutes later, here they are, the five of them bouncing headfirst – lot of turbulence, and Tony's not sure whether it has something to do with the way the ground is shaking or not, and kind of doesn't want to know – into some what's sure to be an enormous clusterfuck with no real idea what's going on and no plan to deal with it.

They're just gonna wing it, so, yeah, it's business as usual.

Steve, standing behind Tasha, glances around. He doesn't have his mask on yet, so Tony, who's standing beside him, behind the other pilot's chair, can see the stress lines around his eyes, worried grooves carved deep into his forehead.

"I'm open to suggestions," he says at last.

And, no, Tony doesn't wonder that he's stressed.

They cut low between a couple of buildings and it's like a blindfold being ripped away, it's like being thrust in the middle of some video game's final battle, it's like waking up in the middle of a nightmare.

The full scope of what's ahead of them becomes clear for the first time.

Thing is, what's ahead of them is not the rampant, wanton chaos of an _ad hoc_ army, not like it was when the Chitauri descended on this same city all of a year ago.

(Which it still hasn't quite recovered from, not entirely; in some places, the damage from Loki's little adventure is still plenty visible.)

No, the army that's pouring out of what turns out to be four small white tears is moving in straight lines through the streets, efficient and _fast_ like a colony of super-charged ants. They don't stop to flip over cars or shoot out buildings; they just hit the ground running like they've actually got some objective in mind, some place they're going.

Here and there are flashes of red, and when those flashes happen, anybody caught nearby falls over – dead or unconscious, it's impossible to tell from this height, but they do fall. But even here, the army does not stop or slow. They fire their shots while running, and if they miss, it doesn't seem to matter; they just keep running. They seem more intent on clearing the path ahead of them than with taking anybody out.

And there are _thousands_.

Literally. Already. A black wave rolling over the streets.

Overhead, there's one massive tear, maybe half a mile across, maybe even bigger than that, just this giant, flaring white scar torn across the sky. The ragged edges flare and snap like whip-ends. And all kind of things are flying out of it: large boxy ships that appear to be carriers for small gray bullet-shaped fighter-type shuttles, some gray ships look like they're maybe three times bigger than the quinjet

They're jetting off in various directions, but they're moving in straight lines to do it, too, these neat and tight formations that speak of training and discipline. They're not firing on anything, not yet; like the foot soldiers, they appear to be aiming to get somewhere.

It's been Tony's – admittedly limited – experience that thrown-together armies who jump in and create a lot of havoc straight away might have an advantage at first, but their lack of cohesion usually costs them in the end, as they either make some kind enormous mistake, or they just sort of end up tearing themselves apart as one faction inside tries to undermine another one.

This, from the air, at least, kind of looks like the opposite of that.

"Yeah," Steve says, swallowing. "So. Any ideas? Should – do we go after the tears first?"

Loki, watching all this from over Tony's shoulder, says, "If we do not close them, then none of _that_-" he gestures at the army below "-will matter." Even he looks disquieted, though, pale and tight-faced. "We must close that large tear before any further damage is done to the dimensional walls."

Tony glances around at him. "Can you close that?"

Loki's gaze meets his. "No," he says quietly. "That much energy would destroy me. We will need to find Mephisto, so that I can obtain the object he is using to keep the tear open. Once I have it, I can close all of the tears."

"Okay," Tasha calls back from the pilot's chair. "So how do we find Mephisto?"

"Get as close to the tear as you can," Loki tells her. He squeezes between Tony and Steve briefly to point off to his left, toward a very tall building a couple miles ahead of them. It looks like it's right under the tear. "There. Up on top. I can't sense _him_, but I believe I can feel the object."

Steve says, "Are you picking anything up there, Tasha?"

"No," Tasha replies without looking around, "but the energy from the tear has my instruments completely off-kilter anyway. I'm pretty much flying blind."

"Okay, so did _not_ need to know that," Tony mutters. He shoots a tight look over at Bruce, who's standing a short ways behind and opposite a wary Loki, staring out one window, doing his whole calm Zen master thing, even though he's got the same pulled-tight look as everybody else does.

Steve hits his 'comm and says, "Director Fury? Are you back at base yet?"

"No," comes the voice over the cabin's speaker. "Got some traffic problems. Listen, I just got off the phone with the Department of Homeland Security and the president's office. They're aware of the situation. We're going to have an official order to deploy National Guard and other domestic units within the next couple minutes. Gimme a clearer picture of the situation so I can report more accurate numbers to them."

Steve, sounding calmer and more in control, makes his report, and in Fury's terse reply, Tony swears he can hear that vein above Fury's eye starting to pulse.

In this case, Tony can't say he'd blame him.

"...long will it be until we have troops in the city?" Steve's asking.

"They're already on their way," Fury says. "Should have boots on the ground by the time the ink dries on that order."

"What about evacuating the city? Getting as many people out as possible? We already have civilian casualties, and this thing hasn't even _started_ yet."

"That's a bad idea," Tony says, shaking his head. "Last thing you want right now is a bunch of panicky people running around in the streets."

"They'll be like lambs led to slaughter," Tasha says, and she sounds a little sick. She angles the quinjet up between a couple of buildings, setting them on a path that puts them above one of one of the arrow-shaped shuttle formations.

Steve shakes his head. "But if they're caught in buildings, they'll be just as dead. Director?"

There's a pause. "Probably already too late to stop a lot of 'em," he says. "But I'm gonna have to agree with Stark on this one: the more people we keep out of the streets right now, the better. It's too late to try to get 'em out, and if that army is just gonna mow 'em down..."

"...then we're better off having them take their chances indoors." Cap nods, sighs, and reaches up to put his mask on. "We're going to go help Loki get that big tear closed Director. When and if we get that done, I'll get in touch with you and we'll see where we go from there. Oh, by the way, is there any way you can get a message up to Thor? Let him know what's going on down here? Hopefully he didn't stop for a visit, but in case he did..."

"Yeah, I'll get on that," Fury says. "But check in with me ten minutes, Captain. One of you. I don't care who. Just in case."

"Will do," Cap says.

"Hey, we've got company back here!" Bruce calls out just then. He's looking back out of one of the side windows. "Couple of them coming up fast behind us. Watch it."

Tasha shakes her head. "I don't see them. No, wait! There they are. They're locking on. Everybody hang onto something!"

And that's all the warning they get.

Tasha banks hard right, shooting the gap between a couple of buildings. Tony's thrown into the jet's wall beside him, and Steve barrels right into him. They're both pushed forward against the empty pilot's seat when Tasha dives down.

"They're fast!" she calls back. "I'm going to try to shake them."

And the next thirty seconds or so is nothing but a sickening series of rolls and dives as Tasha loops the quinjet between buildings and back around, down and up. Tony, who, like everybody else, never had time to strap in, spends that breathless time fighting off the nausea and trying hard not to flop around like a ragdoll every time Tasha changes directions.

As he's trying to get his limbs untangled from Steve's, Tony makes a mental note to never, ever fly inside anything other than his suit again.

Tasha has gotten the jet back to flying flat and straight when there's a hard, jolting impact at the left rear of the jet. A quick fireball belches through metal. Bruce, who's closest back there, is thrown forward into Loki's back. Loki staggers forward, annoyance in his eyes, even as he, like everybody else, scrambles to hang on once the jet starts listing tot he left.

Alarms of all kinds start blaring in the cabin, and Tasha says, "That's it, guys. I can't hold it. We're going down."

They're all thrown forward as the jet pitches to the ground, inky black racing up to meet them.

Behind him, Tony hears a muttered, "Oh, for...!"

A hand closes over his arm. There's an odd crackle of electricity, a second or two of quiet, and another crackle, and the next thing Tony knows, he's somewhere else.

xXx

When Tony opens his eyes, he's lying on the ground somewhere dark.

His arc reactor offers the only light around, but it's not much, not enough to really penetrate the shadows around him. As he sits up, he toggles his night vision, and that helps at least give him a sense of place: a narrow, empty alley, but it doesn't explain much.

"Stark." A cool voice behind him. "Get up."

"Huh?" He looks around. Finds Loki standing a short distance away, a washed-out, pale figure leaning on a dumpster that's rattling like the rest of the ground around them. "What the hell...?"

"Not yet," Loki says. "We need to go."

About two blocks behind him, those black-clad soldiers march past the mouth of the alley, an endless stream of them. Even from this distance, they look huge: easily taller than even Thor, more heavily muscled, and all carrying weapons.

Which, okay, yeah, keeping quiet and staying out of their line of sight? Seems like the thing to do.

"They're going the same direction we are," Loki remarks. "To the building where Mephisto's keeping that tear open. I got us as close as I could actually see to; we will have to walk the rest of the way. It isn't far."

Tony shakes his head as he climbs to his feet. "Wait a minute. Just wait. What about everybody else? Where are they? Did they crash? We can't just leave them. If they're hurt-"

"They are fine, Stark, and we can and will leave them." Loki's eyes are a pair of glittering dark diamonds in a ghostly-white face. "For the time being, they can be of more use to the soldiers your Fury is sending than they can be to me. You, on the other hand, I do have use for. And we have no time to waste. Let us go." Without waiting to see if Tony will follow, Loki heads off down the dark alley, long and rapid strides carrying him away.

If he's at all bothered by the ground's constant tremble, it doesn't show. Asshole.

Tony, glaring after him, doesn't move; instead, he toggles his 'comm. "Cap? Tasha? Bruce? Anybody there?"

"Tony?" Steve replies in tones of relief. "Thank God. You all right? What happened?"

"I'm fine," Tony assures him. "Loki got me out of there before we hit. I think. I don't really know. Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah. The jet's had it, but we're fine. Where are you?"

"Not sure exactly, but we're still on our way to deal with Mephisto." Saying this, he finally starts cutting his way through the narrow alleyway, careful to stay as close to the middle as he can to avoid running into anything. "I think we're close to the building."

"Okay," Cap says. "We'll be right behind you."

"No, don't do that," Tony says. It's not because Loki doesn't want them around; it's because somebody needs to be ready to handle things in case this doesn't work out. It's in case they fail. "Look, just stay on the ground for now. Help out the troops when they get there. If we need help, I'll holler."

There's a very long pause before Cap says, "If you're sure, then we will. God knows they'll need all the help they can get." Tony can just picture his earnest blues full of concern, and it's a little touching. "Just be careful, Tony. Don't trust him."

"No, believe me, I know," Tony says. "And I will. You too."

"Stay in touch, okay? If we don't hear from you, we're coming up."

"Got you." _Mother hen._ "Will do." Tony disconnects and quickens his pace, heavy metal tread thumping over the shaking concrete. "All right," he says as he draws even with Loki. "Well, hey, don't get all giddy, but everybody made it okay."

"Yes, I'm aware, Stark," Loki replies absently. He doesn't look around. "I could not stop their descent, but I slowed it enough to at least ensure their survival."

"...oh." And once again, Tony's left kind of feeling like an asshole. "You know, you could have just said that." He waits a beat to see if he'll get any answer; when nothing comes, he says, "All right, fine. So what's the plan here?"

"Simply speaking, you will distract Mephisto any way you can so that I can get in and take the Eye."

Tony's glad his face is hidden behind his mask, because he can feel his jaw spring in dumbfounded, incredulous disbelief. "You gotta be kidding me," he says. "That's your great plan? You're gonna, what, sneak up on him while his back is turned?"

"Essentially, yes." Impatient. "He has the Eye, which makes him infinitely more powerful than he would be otherwise. I do not have sufficient strength to overpower him head-on, but..." He shrugs a shoulder, a quick, jerky hitch, and finally glances over. It's impossible to make out his expression in the distorted greens of Tony's night vision. "Unless you have something better...?"

"Um." Tony tries, he really does, but he can't come up with anything that isn't either too complicated or that isn't the same plan just said in different words. He shakes his head. "You want me to fly up there and let him see me? Something like that?"

"Yes," Loki says. "It shouldn't take much more than that, if he's distracted."

Right, Tony thinks, snorting.

It'll be just that easy...

xXx

Getting to Mephisto isn't a problem.

There's a heavy concentration of foot soldiers – all of whom just look like giant slabs of carved rock in black jump-suits...who happen to be carrying guns – in and around the building itself, but the building next to it, a matching high-rise, is mostly vacant and has no soldiers inside it.

They're able to get to the roof of that building with no trouble, and they wind up crouching at the low wall around the edge. It puts them close enough to see that Mephisto, a red and black figure that, yep, still looks just like a cartoon devil, is indeed on the roof of the other high-rise. He's alone, and he does, in fact, have the Eye – some round, red, glowing glass-looking object about the size a soccer ball of that reminds Tony of something out of a_ Lord of the Rings _movie – in his hand.

It looks like it's feeding energy into the tear, out of which ships and soldiers are still emerging in their neat, orderly lines.

Down below, distantly, Tony hears the sound of an explosion.

And another.

And another, flashes of red-orange popping like some kind of macabre flashbulb along some vast black carpet.

"Everything okay down there, Steve?" he mutters into his 'comm.

"No," Cap replies tersely. "They've started dropping bombs on buildings from overhead. Big tanks on the ground going off, too. Looks like it's starting."

"Shit," Tony says. "All right. Well, we're here. About to make our run. You guys hang in there." It tastes like shit to say that, he finds, because he should be down there with them, down in the trenches the team, not stuck up here playing decoy. "_Fuck."_

Loki, crouched beside him with his staff laid across his knees, says, without looking at Tony, "As soon as I have the Eye, I will shut down the big tear. After that, I can reverse all of the smaller tears to draw a good deal of these soldiers back through – as I did before. I cannot guarantee I will get them all, but I will be able to take a large number of them. Enough. But," he adds, and here his voice grows quiet, sincere, "in order to do that, in order for me to get the Eye, I need you with me. I know that this is a bad plan, but we have little time and I have nothing else."

_...oh._

Tony winces yet again, because _Jesus Christ _it's like Loki's just going out of his way to make Tony feel like his foot has been surgically implanted into his mouth. "Okay, okay," he says at last. "You know, next time just _say that, _huh? Because that's helpful to know. I mean, if that's your plan, then I'm in." He turns to take another quick look across the way. "So are you ready, or not?"

Loki shoots him a wry smile and says, "As I'll ever be."

xXx

Famous last words, those.

xXx

Thing is, it's a bad plan.

And it fails pretty miserably.

Tony's end of things does, at least.

He shoots across the night-dark gap between the roofs, flying low, and staying well out of Mephisto's sight-line. Mephisto's on the northwest corner, a tall, muscular figure with fiery red skin and a shock of black hair. His attention appears to be fixed on the tear that's snap-crackle-popping right over his head, which Tony takes as a good sign.

He figures he'll just fly right on up there, squeeze off a couple shots, and that'll be it.

Except he cuts a little too near Mephisto's side. Mephisto's attention shifts away from the tear and right onto Tony, two eyes as black and lifeless as lumps of coal lock on like a couple of missiles.

"...oh, shit."

Just that quick, everything goes to hell.

Because a blast of some invisible energy catches Tony square in the chest. His HUD goes dark. The suit's joints freeze around him. Static in his ears like the roar of the ocean.

_Crap, _he has time to think, his stomach seizing, _here we go_.

And sure e-goddamn-nough, that same invisible hand picks him up and tosses him over the edge of the roof like he's a wadded up ball of paper.

And, hey, would you look at that? Freefall again.

Plunging headfirst onto what looks like a couple hundred of the big soldiers below.

It's weird, though: instead of feeling that paralyzing, numbing fear, he's mostly just pissed. It's not that he's not afraid of this – falling inside a dead suit is something he has never gotten used to, does not ever _want_ to get used to – it's more that he's just angry with himself for making such a stupid mistake.

And now he's falling.

Probably to his death.

But the thought doesn't really scare him all that much, not right now, so either really has gotten used to this, or-

He's maybe a hundred-fifty feet away from becoming a red-gold splatter in the middle of a cluster of soldiers when he feels a not-unexpected snap-crackle of electricity around him.

An eyeblink later, he crashes down somewhere hard enough to rattle his bones and drive the breath out of his lungs, but not much more than that.

While he's still trying to remember how to breathe, his suit comes out of its paralysis, the HUD coming back online with its familiar and comforting blues, and JARVIS in his ear asking him if he's okay. His lungs finally unlocking, Tony wheezes that he's fine, because he feels like it; as far as he can tell, he's not actually hurt save where Mephisto's blast caught him in stomach. Even that's just soreness, like he's done a few hundred too many crunches or something.

_That_, he thinks, climbing to his feet, _was a really stupid idea_.

He looks around and finds Loki sitting against a low wall a short distance away. The same roof as before, Tony realizes, like nothing ever happened. Except the part where Loki is dust-covered and scuffed up, his hands and face scratched and bleeding a little, and his armor dinged and dented in a few places.

Looking a little pissy, too.

Tony slides his faceplate up as he heads over.

He winces as the roof shudders under his feet, as the sounds of the battle around them penetrate his fog: the distant thunder of small explosions below them, the faint sounds of brick and concrete crumbling, the pinging sounds of the airborne alien ships shooting off rounds at arrow-shaped fighter jets. Smell of smoke and burning ozone starting to carry up in earnest now, too. Fires everywhere.

"Getting pretty fucking nuts out here," he remarks as he sits. "And, uh, yeah, I gotta stop doing that."

"Indeed," Loki says, green eyes unreadable. It may just be the harsh light from the tear, but his face looks a little pale. "Perhaps you'll stop dreaming badly."

"Maybe," Tony says. "Hey, thanks. For, you know, saving my ass. Again."

Loki nods. "It really is becoming a bad habit, isn't it?"

"...yeah." Tony huffs a laugh without much humor in it. "So, we should try that again. Only, you know, avoiding the part where I fall."

After a pause, Loki nods and starts to rise. "In that case..."

Tony, acting on a sudden impulse, reaches over and snags hold of Loki's wrist. "Wait."

Loki sends a startled, frowning glance Tony's way, but doesn't try to pull away. "Stark, we really-"

"Hey," Tony says over him.

It's all he says.

They really don't have time for this, and, hell, it isn't even the place for it, not in the middle of all this, for God's sake, but Tony decides he's just selfish enough to not give a shit right this second.

Maybe he can't fix everything he's screwed up in his life, maybe he can't take back mistakes he's made in other places _(Oh, Pepper, I hope you're safe wherever you are. I miss you_), but maybe he can fix this one little thing, undo one earlier little act of stupidity. Even if it doesn't matter, even if it doesn't mean anything in the end, and hell, even if it never meant anything in the first place, it's something he has in front of him he can fix.

It'll be one less regret he'll have hanging over him if everything else falls apart.

So he tugs Loki to him, pulls him in, and kisses him, slow and easy, awkward angle and all.

Tries to say everything with it he knows he won't be able to with actual words.

In the heated press of Loki's lips, Tony finds his answer.

xXx

Loki's hands fit themselves along the sides of Tony's face, fingers curling briefly into the hollows below Tony's jaw – _what the hell _is it _with that_? – and caressing once before falling away.

xXx

It lasts just a moment, and like all such moments, however much one might wish it to last, it passes.

As Loki lowers his hands, contented, Stark pulls away, his dark eyes just layer upon confounding layer of expression, full of things Loki can only guess at: Worry? Amusement? Desire? Fear? Hope?

Things that he does not have _time_ to guess at.

He can hear the Eye calling to him.

Can feel it reaching for him.

Can see it as clearly as he can see the sky starting to burn around them.

"So, uh, yeah," Stark says, standing, a small man in a large metal suit. "Whenever you're ready. I think I have a better idea how to come at him now. His range, I mean. So I don't get caught and dropped again."

Loki uses his staff to lever himself to his feet. "That is good to know," he says, and adds, with a hint of a smile, "I tire of saving your life, Stark, because every time I do I fear you'll take it as a sign that my opinion of you has changed."

Stark smirks as he closes his mask over his face. "Oh, I don't see that happening this side of ever, Reindeer Games," he says easily. Even through the machine, Loki can hear the laughter in the man's voice. It is a strange comfort. "Do me a favor, huh? If we ever get to the point where you're about to kill me, don't throw me off a building."

"If the time comes, your end will be fast and painless," Loki assures him. "You have earned that much."

"Good to know."

"I should _hope_," Loki adds, "that I have earned the same."

Stark, who'd been about to take to the air, pauses and glances around with a blank-mask face. "If it comes to that," he says in a voice that is as expressionless as his mask, "then yeah. I guess you have."

"Good," Loki says, satisfied.

xXx

What they do not count on, what nearly undoes them, is the dozen or so of Thanos's soldiers who emerge from the building just as Stark has begun to make his approach.

He has already committed to his run, has already begun to creep up on Mephisto, when the soldiers boil out of the entrance, so there is – literally – no time to call him back.

Loki is, once again, forced to act before he is fully prepared.

Biting off a curse, he materializes between the soldiers and Stark, staff raised. Quick energy bursts catch the first two soldiers in the chest, send them sprawling back into their fellows, who become tangled up in one another.

Loki continues to fire at the soldiers while Stark spins mid-air and lets fly with a volley of some sort of projectile weaponry that drives the soldiers back further, unsettles them, keeps them from firing their own weapons.

They work in tandem, he and Stark, and manage to drive the soldiers back further and further-

-until blast of energy catches Loki from behind, smashes into him, throws him across the rooftop.

He lands in a dazed tangle of limbs and cloak near the roof entrance, his staff just out of reach.

Before he can even collect himself enough to reach for it, he feels pain sizzle through his shoulder, a searing burn like he's just been shot through with a bolt of pure fire.

Another burns through his leg, cutting clean through his shin.

The flames begin to rain down in earnest after that: red darts that come at him from seemingly every direction, wave after wave, relentless and unceasing.

His face, hands, legs, body, every bit of him torn apart and burned up in a deluge against which neither is armor nor his magic – which he cannot even seem to _find –_can protect him.

The pain is massive, a monster with enormous sharp teeth, devouring him bit by bit, and the worst part is that he is unable to summon the breath to scream.

How long it goes on, he does not know, but he's fading by degrees when at last he hears a sound like distant thunder. The onslaught stops, or at least he thinks it does; the stinging, sizzling impacts seem to stop, but the pain, that shrieking madman, does not quiet, so he is not entirely certain whether that means it is over or whether he simply has reached the point where he can't feel it.

Isn't, it turns out, terribly concerned.

He curls up on his side as he feels the blackness reach for him: long fingers pulling him toward unconsciousness, or perhaps Death herself.

It would be welcome reprieve.

Anything to put an end to this.

As his aching, trembling hand falls beside him, it lands on something that is cool and smooth and tingling with power.

His staff, he thinks, through the black haze, as his hand closes on it.

It isn't much, but it's enough to chase away some of the pain, to push back the darkness.

It gives him just enough strength to lift his head.

Through bleary, fuzzy eyes, he sees Mephisto – a dark red blur – holding something toward Stark – a red and gold blur – as if he is about to attack.

_No._

Summoning the last of his magical energy him, Loki raises his staff and channels every drop in him through the crystal, and fires it all one desperate burst.

Unable to hold himself up any longer, he collapses, and allows the blackness to swallow him up.

xXx

"...on, man. Stay with me here. I know it hurts, but you gotta hang on for just a little longer..."

A voice drifting down from some impossible distance, just barely audible over the roaring in his ears. Dream or illusion, he does not know which. "...mm..."

"Hey, hey, easy, I know. I know. But, look, I need you, okay? I need you with me. Just for a second. So come on. Please?"

Loki, reacting to the sound of the voice – of that one word – without really meaning to, blinks iron-heavy eyelids open into world that is nothing but solid, fiery agony. A trembling world. Can feel himself shaking, the pain an enormous snarling beast the back of an exhausted mind.

His insides feel as if they have been liquefied, as if every solid mass within has been reduced to nothing more than a mass of wet tissue, and it makes even the simple act of drawing a breath near impossible.

He had found a measure of relief in the black. Why had he left?

Had something called him?

A face, pale and round as a moon, fills his sight: a dark vision haloed in stark white light.

Familiar, perhaps, but perhaps an illusion.

"Hey." The voice that drifts down from on high. "You knocked him out. Mephisto. And I got the Eye. And, look, I know you're...Jesus, I know you're in a bad way right now, I know it hurts, man, but if there's any way you can help, if there's any way you can use this Eye thing..."

The Eye.

Something familiar about that, too.

"Give it to me." Mouthing the words more than speaking them, as no air will come. He manages to lift a hand just a bit.

Something heavy is set beside him, and his trembling, fluttering hand is settled atop it. "Here," the voice says. "You hang onto that. Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

Nerveless fingers slip atop a cool, smooth surface.

The Eye.

He has the Eye.

_He has the Eye._

xXx

Within the span of a heartbeat, magical energy, pure as any Loki has ever felt, stronger than any he has ever known, begins to wash over him. It courses through his veins, surges through them, _bursts_ through them.

And where it goes, it unbreaks bones and undamages organs and untears skin.

Its sweet voice sings away his pain and weariness, banishing the shrieking monsters in his mind until they are no more than mere memories.

It takes only a moment.

And when that moment passes – as moments always do – he takes a breath.

And rises.

xXx

Stark smiles in wild-eyed relief when he sees Loki standing.

Around them, the ragged edges of the tear snap and crackle, vicious and violent, some predator's hungry mouth snapping at its prey. Ships and soldiers and all manner of flying creatures stream through to crowd Earth's sky. The ground beneath them shakes and moans. Fire, that unholy devourer, has its orange-flame fingers stretched across the inky night's horizon.

Beautiful, all of it.

Loki smiles back at Stark across the rooftop.

Lifts his hand, and lets his magic carry him away.

xXx

_Is it possible to know if I'm dead or alive?  
__It's treading with a piece, a piece that I cannot hide.  
__It's running with a smile  
__It's better than the last time that I tried.  
_-Karnivool, "Synops"

A/N: Thanks for reading.


	17. Ash and urn and the silent horizon

A/N: This is the end, my friends. Enjoy.

16. **"Dust devil swept you away; whirling, playful, dancing about you. What's left of you is ash and urn and this silent horizon."**

Thanos had not, as Loki might have expected, come through the tear.

Quite the contrary: he had remained behind in the relative safety of his sanctuary.

Perhaps he intended to descend on Earth to claim victory once the battle was well over, or perhaps he intended to remain out of reach in case something went amiss.

A wise choice, but...

"I must admit," Loki remarks as he enters Thanos's command room, "I'm disappointed. I would have expected a strong leader like you to be out at the head of the charge, as it were, not hiding back in the barracks. I hadn't realized you were a coward."

Thanos himself, massive hands casped behind his back, is standing before a screen on which an image of Earth and his advancing army has been projected. On hearing Loki's voice, he turns, gaslight eyes narrowing, a smug, malevolent grin stretching his his mouth. "Godling," he says, sounding both neither surprised nor troubled. "So you have returned again. You truly are a fool."

"I am that, yes," Loki acknowledges, mouth quirking. "A fooled fool, no less." He eases further into the room, noting the Other's shadowy presence at the far side, but otherwise paying no mind to his surroundings. He pauses near a window, leans sideways against it. "I see you decided to make your move rather sooner than you told me."

"So I did." Thanos is all gloating malevolence.

"Tell me, was that in response to my coming to see you earlier?"

"Is that what you really want to know? Or would you rather know whether I planned to use you at all?"

"Oh, I believe you've made your answer to that question quite clear." Loki waves that aside, clasps his hands together behind him, takes another step into the black chamber. He is still quite a ways out of Thanos's reach, and decides, for the moment, to remain there. "No," he says, "I am truly curious as to why you rushed ahead as quickly as you did. A feat, incidentally, that I find most impressive." He has the luxury of admitting that, now. "The scope and size of your army, all that discipline and cohesion, it truly is a thing of beauty. Whether I warned them or not, the humans never stood a chance. I see that now. Still..."

"Had you not come and told me you'd divulged my plans, I might have waited a day. Perhaps. It truly was of no consequence. I always meant to go when my army was ready."

"Do you not care that your sorcerer has, yet again, torn holes between dimensions?" Loki asks. "The walls have already begun to disintegrate. Much longer and they will begin to collapse in on themselves"

Thanos's grin curls, revealing even more teeth. "Lies," he says. "My sorcerer told me – swore under the most perfect agony – that it wasn't true. That it was something you fabricated to save your own skin. It is impossible for a single portal to destroy the entire universe."

"And that is why you sent him back out out," Loki muses. "Fair enough. He's wrong about that, by the way, but I suppose he felt he had to say anything to stop the 'perfect agony.' That is the one downfall with torture." He glances at Thanos's monitor, on which which is showing images of a long row of ships in the Earth sky. "You don't seem surprised to see me."

"You are a fool, godling," Thanos says again, "and a predictable one at that. Of course I expected to see you here once you realized what I'd done. You're here to confront me, perhaps even to threaten me." A quiet chuckle. "Your biggest and last mistake. If you had any inkling what lies in wait for you below..."

Loki gathers his powers to him, lets the Eye's sweet power fill him, but does not strike out, not just yet. "And what would that be?" he asks instead, keeping his tone one of bored indifference.

He could, he supposes, simply seal the compartment _now_ and have done with it, but if he's honest with himself, he's quite enjoying this.

"Agony the likes of which you have never known," Thanos replies with his unwary madman's grin. "It will make what I put my sorcerer through seem like mere child's play. As much as it takes, for as long as it takes, until you learn the true meaning of respect."

"Mm, I see." Loki looks up as if he's considering that for a moment, and then shakes his head. "I must admit, that doesn't sound terribly appealing to me."

"Then you should not have come here," Thanos says.

That is all the warning Loki has, but this time he is prepared for what's coming.

When the guards come, and they most assuredly do, and quite a lot fo them, Loki uses the Eye's power to create a shield around himself, a dense, impenetrable bubble that deflects the guards' shots away from him. Those shots, those blood red energy darts, he now knows, were what had seared through him like fire when he'd been on the roof.

Mephisto had knocked him down, and one, or perhaps several, of the soldiers had begun to shoot him while he was off his feet.

It is an experience has no desire to repeat.

It is an experience, however, he does not mind inflicting on those who dared attempt to inflict on him.

He raises a hand – an unrushed, languid gesture – and gathers the incoming darts to him through his shield. When, after a moment, he feels he has enough, he simply opens his hand and shoots them back.

Every one of the three or so dozen soldiers in the room falls over dead.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Other emerge from the shadows, hand raised and glowing blue with magical energy.

Loki flicks a casual hand his way, lashing out with no more effort than he would use to flick away an annoying insect, and watches with great satisfaction as the Other flies backward into the wall. He crashes into it hard enough to make the room vibrate, hard enough to crack his helmet, hard enough to shatter his bones, hard enough that when he lands he does not move.

"Well," Loki says lightly as he returns his attention to Thanos, "that was rather enjoyable." With a gesture, he closes the command room's door and seals it shut. "But enough of the opening act. Let us get down our featured performance, shall we?" He dismisses his shield. "My apologies, incidentally; I may have neglected to mention that I neutralized your sorcerer and retook the Eye."

Saying this, he lifts his cape enough to reveal the makeshift sling in which he had placed the Eye. It is a comforting weight at his hip.

On seeing this, Thanos's grin flees, leaving behind narrowed eyes and a stony, disquieted expression. He glances over at his monitor and back again. "My portals are still open," he says, voice a troubled rumble.

"I had rather more pressing matters to attend," Loki replies. "You and I did need to have a conversation about the true meaning of respect. It simply could not wait."

An invisible hand closes around his throat just then, lifts him off his feet.

It chokes the very breath out of him, squeezing and squeezing as if to make his head burst.

That fast, Thanos is in Loki's face: all burning eyes and mouth curled into a furious snarl and the dull gleam of sharp teeth. "You_ dare,"_ he seethes. "You _dare _speak to me that way?"

The grip tightens around Loki's throat, but he does not panic.

Deep in the back of his mind, a small voice whispers, and he listens to it.

He does what it tells him.

A mere moment later, the pressure eases around his throat and he drops back down to the floor. He lands in an easy crouch, takes a breath, and grins up.

"Oh, yes," he says, and if his voice is still a shade rough, more's the better, "I dare. I most certainly dare. All this time, you thought you'd beaten me. Do you not see? You lost the moment you chose to let me walk away. That was _your_ mistake. Your biggest and last. So, yes, I dare."

Thanos, with his unnerving speed, lashes out with a massive fist, a blow that aims to decapitate.

Loki is still crouched when it comes, and that, along with sheer reflex, save him: he dives forward and rolls over his shoulder.

He leaps to his feet and spins in time to see Thanos gathering himself for a charge. He feels those fingers scrabbling at his throat again, feels something trying to push him over.

He is good, Loki has time to think, quite good. He's faster than he has any right to be, and even stronger than he looks. Even at full magical strength and fully-rested, Loki doubts he could beat Thanos one-on-one, not on his own.

With help, however...

He simply builds another shield around himself, a small energy wall, one that repels the scrabbling fingers and the hand trying to take him off his feet.

When Thanos charges, he runs headfirst into the barrier.

He staggers backward, stunned.

Loki hits him square in the chest with a blast of pure energy: hard enough to disable, but not hard enough to kill him.

Thanos flies backward and lands in a mountainous heap near his monitor.

For good measure, Loki hits him again.

And again.

Hard enough to _hurt_, to really _hurt_, but not hard enough to kill.

Satisfied that he has made his point, he releases the shield – it takes a fair bit of energy to maintain that, and even the Eye has its limits – and crosses the room.

He finds as he crouches beside the prone form, that Thanos is still quite conscious.

That great, furious fire is still burning in his eyes.

_Good_.

Thanos makes a feeble attempt to lift his hands. Loki pins him in place with light magical bonds.

"Kill me, then, godling," Thanos rasps. "End this."

"Oh, I think not, my friend," Loki replies, sitting back on his haunches. "No, I won't be sending you into your lady's embrace anytime soon. In fact, you'll be coming with me. I want you to be my witness."

"To what?"

"You'll see, soon enough," Loki assures him. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. But," he adds, smiling, "there's no real hurry. We have plenty of time, you and I, before we go, and I have a good deal to teach you about the meaning of respect. And I can assure you, this _will_ hurt.

"And so we're clear," he continues, "my name is not 'godling.'

"My name is Loki."

xXx

On a rooftop back on Earth, down beneath a shining white scar in the dark skin of the sky, Tony Stark blinks in confusion.

"Loki?" he calls. "Where the hell are you?"

The only sounds he hears are the eletric snaps from the tears' edges, the rumbling sounds from the buildings all around, the constant thunder of explosions, and the roars from the – _what the fuck is that?! _– things coming out of the tear.

There are _things _coming out of the tear.

Things that are not ships. Things that have heads. Things that have wings. Things that have giant fucking tails with giant fucking spikes on them. Things that are huge and ungainly and should not, under any laws of physics whatsoever, be able to fly. But somehow still are!

And Loki, that grinning son-of-a-bitch, is gone.

He got his goddamn toy and disappeared, probably like he meant to all along.

One of the giant flying things – big and orange and vaguely dragon-like – makes a pass right over Tony's head. Tony bites off a curse and scrambles to get his helmet back on.

The goddamn thing hisses and spits at him. Whatever that spit hits, it dissolves. Some kind of acid, probably, Tony thinks as he slaps his faceplate down and speeds away.

Which is just great.

Because they need this on top of everything else.

Fortunately for him, the orange thing is big but it's also slow, so he's able to lose it when he threads his way between a couple of narrow buildings.

And Jesus Christ, yeah, okay _now_ it's chaos.

All that discipline and order, all those neat lines, it's all been erased, like some kid has gone through and kicked it all over. It's all been lost in the war going on all around him: as military fighter planes tangle with the alien ships in the air, as the massive army below destroys buildings and tussles with the National Guard and other troops, as large vehicles fire off equally large weapons everywhere.

And on top of that, the things that flew out of the tear have jumped into the mix and are taking out both alien and human fighters.

Half the city is on fire, oppressive heat boiling up from all over the ground, and the smoke is so noxious-thick that Tony knows he'd be having trouble breathing if not for the suits heavy-duty air filters. How anybody can even see what they're doing out there, he has no idea.

"Fuck," he mutters, toggling his 'comm. "Cap? You there?"

"Yeah, Tony," Cap replies. He sounds strained, tired. "What's going on?"

Tony decides not to pussyfoot around. "So Loki screwed us over. We got that Eye thing away from that Mephisto guy, and then Loki took off. I don't know where he went, but I think that means we're on our own here. Oh, and it looks like there are some big flying things coming through the tear now, too. I don't know if they're part of the army or not, but, hey, surprise."

"He just _left_?" Cap blurts.

"Yeah." Nearby, there's a big explosion of some kind, a big fireball flaring orange a ways below as a couple of ships take each other out. Tony's hand's a fist at his side.

He'd actually believed that fucking bastard when he'd said he was going to fix this.

"Great," Cap finally says. "Well, since we're putting all our cards on the table, we've lost contact with Director Fury. S.H.I.E.L.D. has, too. I talked to one of their agents a few minutes ago. She said she was talking to him, and there was an explosion of some kind. They haven't heard from him since."

"Oh, that's terrific," Tony mutters. "All right, well, I'm kind of at loose ends here – no point hanging around the tear if Loki's not here – so do you want me to go see if I can find him, or do you want me to come to you?"

He might not _like_ Fury, might not even trust the guy, but that doesn't mean he likes the idea of anything actually happening to the guy, especially when he's on their side.

But Cap says, "We need you here, Tony. We're down by the Brooklyn Bridge. Starting to get pretty overrun."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

xXx

JARVIS informs Tony that the suit is at seventy-four percent power, which is good, but most of his ammo is either on its way to being depleted or already gone: he'd used a whole bunch when he'd gone after the soldiers who'd turned Loki into swiss cheese.

(And what a horrorshow that had been, the sight of Loki lying there against the low parapet wall, bleeding from what had to be five dozen holes in him, skin shredded away, bones visible, organs oozing out. It's kind of like a bad song: the more he tries not to think about it, the more he ends up thinking about it.)

_Fucking ungrateful bastard_.

So, Tony's ammo situation isn't so hot, but his suit has a fair bit of juice in it.

It will, he guesses, have to be enough.

No time to worry about it now.

xXx

For the next little while, his whole world is reduced to a series of small skirmishes.

The aliens soldiers are well-trained fighters, unquestionably, strong and quick and agile, but they have no more armor than their human counterparts. They are no less vulnerable than any human. Their weapons are a little better, but not much.

Their real strength is in their sheer number.

And they sure as hell keep Tony busy.

"_Seventy percent power, sir."_

He teams with Hulk for a while to help deal with a couple of big flame-throwing tank-like weapons: Tony drawing their fire so Hulk is able to get in there and smash them to bits.

Hulk gets burned a couple times on his leg, deep enough to cause him to lose maybe a quarter-step on his jump and enough to give him a noticeable limp.

"_Sixty-five percent power, sir_."

He and Tasha clear out a group of soldiers who've pinned a National Guard platoon in an alleyway. The platoon, in turn, helps them get what civilians they can clear of a building that's about to collapse.

Tasha gets tripped up by a falling chunk of concrete and narrowly avoids getting her head smashed in. Tony takes a couple of those stinging fucking energy darts off his shoulder. They don't penetrate his armor, but for about twenty minutes he can't really move his arm much.

"_Sixty percent power, sir_."

He leads some flying soldiers on a breathless, merry chase through buildings and smoke to give Cap time to deal with a handful of soldiers who were trying to take control of the few tanks the US Army had been able to provide on such short notice.

Cap gets pulled down at one point and pummeled by a couple of the alien soldiers until one of the Army guys puts a bullet through the alien's head. Tony gets hit with another volley of energy bolts, this time in his leg.

"_Fifty-five percent power, sir_."

Tony and Hulk all come together to tackle one of the big flying things that comes to drop a load of acid on them. While Tony once again plays decoy, Hulk ends up on its back and manages to rip its head off.

One of its claws tears into Hulk's burned leg, drawing four long, deep claw marks down his thigh.

And so on.

xXx

They win a few skirmishes, but it in the grand scheme of things, even without the tear making everything shake and shudder, their efforts don't amount to much.

It's like building sandcastles at the water's edge during high tide: every time they make progress, to build a wall or get a structure together, the waves come in and wash it all out.

Those waves, they keep coming.

They lose the bridge when an alien ship blows it apart. It's full of people trying to escape when that happens, and most of those people never have a chance.

The ground hasn't stopped shaking, but, for the moment, it doesn't appear the shaking is getting any worse. It's still enough to send debris everywhere and make fighting on the ground a constant challenge.

Smoke and dust makes breathing a chore – so much that even the alien army seems to be slowed by it. It makes seeing a chore, too. Tony has to keep his night vision on, which doesn't help a lot, but it, along with his suit's scanners, at least keeps him from being surprised by anything coming out of the dark.

It's a deep, smothering dark, closed-in and hot.

The rumbling hasn't gotten much worse – thank God – but it hasn't stopped.

Civilian casualties mount by the hundred as buildings collapse and the air becomes too thick to breathe and the alien soldiers abandon any pretense at disciplined killings and start killing indiscriminately.

Military casualties mount by the dozen.

Which is another thing: Tony can't prove it, but given the relative scarcity of National Guard troops and air support, he has a feeling somebody has already declared New York City a lost cause. Yeah, there are military planes flying overhead, and there are troops on the ground, but there aren't many of either, and there's a crying lack of military machinery to be had, too.

Jesus, there are cops – good old NYPD officers – on the ground who have more armor and better gear.

Tony, disgusted and furious, doesn't even know what to make of that.

But he keeps it to himself, and, like the cops and soldiers and the rest of the Avengers, he keeps fighting.

What else is he going to do?

xXx

The Avengers end up abandoning one hot zone for another, this along the southern edge of the city, where the air is at least marginally clearer and the fires aren't quite as intense.

All four of them – Hulk, Tasha, Cap, and Tony – have paused in a vacant parking lot to gather themselves and to take a collective breather before heading off into the next onslaught.

They've been at this for two, maybe three hours, but it feels like it's been days.

They're grim and quiet, nobody really saying anything, everybody hunched over and breathing hard. They're all bleeding from some minor wound or another: Cap's chin is cut open, his suit has a half-dozen bloody holes in it, and his shield is dinged all to hell; Tasha's suit is ripped wide open along her left arm, and there's blood all over; Hulk's got a couple of weeping holes in his arm and another in his shoulder, and there's blood all down the side of his leg from those long, angry-looking gashes; Tony's leg will barely support his weight.

No one wants to say it, of course, but Tony can see it on everybody's faces: that grim tightness, clenched jaws, gray faces, hunched shoulders.

They've all taken some pretty heavy damage, they're getting tired, and they can't hold up forever.

Without some major help, they're not going to make it.

xXx

Which is the point at which Thor marches up with a hundred warriors.

xXx

Cap sounds like a kid who's just woken up Christmas morning to discover everything he's ever wanted under his tree when he walks up to Thor and says, "Thor! You made it, buddy!" His eyes are bright behind his mask and his shoulders, which just moments before were slumped, have squared themselves right back up.

Thor, tall and straight-backed and every inch the warrior in his armor and helmet, grins. "Of course, my friend! I would not abandon you in your time of need! I came as soon as I was able."

"With reinforcements," Tasha says, and even she looks like she wants to crack a smile as she looks at the ten lines of ten warriors all standing in the middle of the empty parking lot in their pristine, bright armor. "It's good to see you."

Thor nods at her. "You as well," he says. "I brought what I could. I hope it will be enough."

"Every little bit helps," Steve says.

Even Hulk, leaning against a parked truck, grunts in what sounds like agreement.

Tony, however, can't help noticing that all Thor brought with him is warriors.

He is careful not to show it, but he finds himself fighting disappointed: he'd sort of hoped Thor would bring back somebody from Asgard who knew how to deal with a tear in the dimensional wall.

Surely somebody up there had to know.

But maybe not.

Beggars, he supposes, can't be choosers, and some help is better than no help at all.

xXx

Tony brings Thor up to speed on the whole situation.

Thor's grin dims when Tony gets to the part about Loki pulling a Houdini with the Eye.

Still, once Tony has finished, Thor squares his shoulders and asks what they're going to do.

Tony looks at Steve who shakes his head and says, "Well, last time I talked to anybody at S.H.I.E.L.D., they said the objective was containment. So I guess we try to keep as many of them in the city as we can."

"They're not gonna nuke again are they?" Tony asks.

"Not that I know of."

"Just checking," Tony says, but he pauses. "Anything from Fury?"

Steve, his blue eyes like a couple of stormy lakes, just shakes his head.

xXx

The one-hundred-plus-five draw a line in the ever-shaking sand, and when the aliens come, they do everything in their combined power to hold it.

Thor's warriors are a godsend.

They're as well-trained as any soldiers Tony has seen, and they fight like Thor does: full-out, like there's no holding back, like they're at their happiest when they're hacking and bashing.

Thor's a dervish with his hammer, and the alien soldiers really aren't any match for him.

He's in his element, swinging away at group after group of aliens, hammer a blur, body in constant motion.

It gives all of them a boost.

Hulk grins as he smashes away; Tasha moves with supple fluid grace to blindside and cut down groups of soldiers in their tracks; Cap swings his shield like it weighs nothing; Tony darts and dives through the crowds like his beat up suit doesn't weight a thing, drawing fire away and playing decoy.

All they need is Clint there, Tony thinks at some point, and this would be just like old times.

For a while, at least, the Avengers and Thor's army manage to drive back the enemy.

For a while.  
xXx

Tony's gone off with Hulk and Tasha to round up some aliens flying on their one-manned hover vehicles when things slip ninety degrees to one side, the way the quinjet had right before it crashed.

xXx

It starts with a screech overhead, and Tony, in the middle of of a breathless dive onto one of the black-clad alien riders, nearly getting knocked into a broken building.

One of the big uglies from the tear – this one gray and scaly and some kind of bizarre cross between a antelope, a snake, and a falcon – swoops down out of nowhere and whaps Tony with its tail, sending him careening off to one side. After flailing a little, he manages to fire off his repulsors enough to right himself.

The flying thing takes off after the alien soldiers, so Tony flies off to look for Tasha and Hulk.

He turns, squinting through the smoky haze, and finally finds them back behind him a block or so.

He's gotten maybe a quarter of the way back to them when he hears Tasha scream, "Hulk!"

As Tony darts forward he sees Hulk collapse on the street, shrinking back into Bruce as he hits the pavement. And Tony's maybe a third of the way there when Tasha leaps over a downed soldier and fights her way through a couple more, all flying feet and furious fists. She breaks through and scrambles to Bruce's side.

"They're human!" she yells over the 'comm. "The soldiers who just took him down! They're human! They just shot him with something." She crouches down beside him. "Looks like a tranquilizer dart."

Tony, still a few hundred feet away, can only watch, helpless, as her hand flies to the side of her neck.

Without another word, she collapses across Bruce's chest.

Tony charges down to help, and as he does he sees what looks like a half dozen men dressed in black hovering near her and Bruce.

Men.

Not aliens.

He never makes to her, though, because a swarm of soldiers on their one-manned fighters – ones he never even saw coming – crashes into him. The impact sends him flying off backward. Flipping head over heels, he struggles to reorient himself again, stomach churning the whole way. He bounces off a jagged wall and careens off sideways, but doing so at least slows his head over heels spin enough that he's able to get himself back under control.

He dives low to avoid an oncoming fighter. "Cap!" he calls out, barreling sideways and then back up. "Thor! Bruce and Tasha are down! I can't get to 'em – got a situation on my hands here. We're a couple blocks west of you. Can either of you make it?"

"I'll try, Tony, but I have a situation of my own here," Cap replies, his voice tight.

"As do we," Thor says, and he sounds just as strained and distracted as the captain. "But we will be there as soon as we can."

Tony shoots the gap between a couple of the flying soldiers, just missing getting caught up in their energy weapons. He grunts in satisfaction when they collide and explode mid-air, their flaming fireball falling onto the street below and taking out even more of them. "They were human," he says. "I saw them, too. Looked like our guys in black from the attack yesterday."

Yesterday, Jesus. How is that even possible?

If either Steve or Thor has a reply, Tony loses it as he dive-rolls between a couple more fighters.

He's not so lucky this time, though: before the one crashes into the other, he takes a handful of shots off his legs and back. The shots don't penetrate the suit, but they dent it in, and it hurts like crazy, especially the one right over his kidney.

"We still okay, JARVIS?" he asks.

"No major damage, sir," JARVIS reports. "Power level is at thirty-eight percent. At your current usage rate, I estimate another fifty-seven minutes before you're down to emergency power."

"Hey, do me a favor and prep the Mark VII, would you? Just in case I need to make a quick change."

"I'm sorry, sir, but that won't be possible."

"Why not?" Tony, darting down under the last fighter, blinks as realization slams into him with the force of a wrecking ball. "The tower?"

"Destroyed, sir, eight minutes ago."

"Son of a _bitch_," Tony curses. "What about the mansion?"

"It is still standing, but it has no power."

"Then how are you...? Oh." Malibu. A couple more bullets bite into his shoulder, and he curses. "Let me know when I get down to ten percent power, okay? Otherwise, I don't want to know."

"Yes, sir."

Tony dives through the flaming window of a building and out the other side, knifing hard to his right to avoid running into the building across from it. His tail, the last of the alien fliers, isn't fast enough and explodes against the brick.

As he turns to head back to where he'd left Tasha and Bruce, something bubbles up through the numb exhaustion: a creeper of grief.

His tower is gone. All his suits, his cars, his – well, everything that was there. It's all gone.

And he wasn't even _there_.

xXx

Tasha and Bruce aren't where Tony left them. Save a few fallen alien soldiers and a couple of human ones, there is no one on the street at all when Tony touches down.

"Cap? Thor?" he calls over the 'comm. "Did you guys by chance come by and get Bruce and Tasha?"

"No, sorry," Cap replies through a heavy sigh. "They really piled on me."

"And us as well," Thor booms. He never has caught the hang of speaking normally over the 'comms. "We could not get away."

"Are they not there?" Cap asks, his voice sliding up half an octave.

"No," Tony says. "No, they're gone."

Like everything else today – like Cecil, like Pepper, like Loki, like his fucking _tower –_ Bruce and Tasha are gone.

Grief like a stone wedged between Tony's heart and his arc reactor. Standing alone in the middle of a trembling, dead street, he closes his eyes, and lowers his head.

Hears Captain America say, "Oh, hell."

xXx

As soon as Thor and Cap are able to break away from their fights, they join Tony on the street. Like grim bloodhounds, they three of them fan out to hunt for some indication where Tasha and Bruce might have gone.

They don't find anything, though.

It's like Bruce and Tasha were never there.

xXx

Tony, limping and exhausted and frustrated and numb all the way through, has just turned to say something to Steve about maybe heading back to meet up with Thor's warriors when there is a massive boom overhead.

The ground heaves beneath them all hard enough to throw them off their feet.

xXx

When Tony manages to stand back up, he sees that the tear has almost doubled in size.

Where before he'd only been able to see just an edge of the tear, he can now see at least a third of it, a harsh white light cutting through the haze. They're close enough that he can even see these long whip-like things waving from the tear's ragged edges.

Looks like all kinds of things – living and non-living – are blowing through it, caught in a driving, howling wind.

The ground continues to heave and moan.

Tony, feeling like he's on the back of a pissed off bucking bull, slides his mask up and glances over at Steve and Thor. "That can't be good."

Like anything about this damn day has been.

And, seriously, _fuck Loki_.

Steve, flailing his arms and shield for balance, turns a pale, grim face up to the tear. Says, quietly, "What do we do, Tony? I don't – I can't... I don't know. Nothing we did here – it didn't even matter. We lost Bruce and Tasha, and now this. How do we fight something like this?" His overlarge, wounded eyes find Thor. "You brought a hundred soldiers. You, with all your godly powers, all your _might_, all your _magic_ – and that's the best you could do? How can Loki be the only person in the whole universe who knows how to stop these things? How you not have anybody else up there in Asgard who knows how to deal with this?"

Tony, wincing, finds himself wishing like hell he'd spoken up earlier. Truth is, Thor's warriors, good as they are, really haven't been much help, not in any way that matters.

Thor's eyes track upward to the tear. "I never even asked," he says softly. "It never occurred to me."

"How could it not have occurred to you? You had to know-!"

"Steve." Tony cuts him off. He lays a hand on Cap's shoulder, and he can't tell if it's shaking because the ground's shaking or because Cap is. "Hey. Don't."

"I am sorry, my friend," Thor says.

"It's not your fault," Tony tells him.

"It _is_ my fault," Thor says. All around him the ground rumbles as if it is nodding in agreement. "I was thinking only about fighting, about war. I did not even _think_-"

"_Hey_!" Tony yells. "Seriously. That's enough. It doesn't matter now."

Cap sets his shield down and swipes his mask off. "There has to be something we can do." He turns a frightened, desperate look on Thor. "Everything is going to be wiped out, Thor. Do you understand? Everything. If there's any chance you could get back to Asgard and find _somebody_ who knows how to stop this, then you should go do it."

"That won't be necessary," a quietly amused voice says from the darkness. "Your _somebody_ has found you."

A tall, slender figure wearing armor and a horned helmet emerges out of the haze.

"Loki?" Thor asks. A tentative question.

"_Loki_," Tony growls. A curse.

Loki, smiling benignly from beneath an ash-covered tree, pauses near them and says, "So we meet again."

He lifts a hand.

Tony feels the air snap-crackling around him in what's becoming a familiar way, and the empty street around him disappears.

xXx

An eyeblink later, he finds himself on a bright-lit rooftop – _that_ rooftop – the one he'd flown off of forever ago after Loki pulled his disappearing act.

Overhead, that massive white scar, bright as the sun, stretches across the sky like it's trying to split it open. Up this close, the tendrils, which are more like long threads that have come unraveled from the tear's shifting, ragged edges, whip and slash mindlessly through the air.

Rocks and debris and flying animals and things Tony can't even begin to identify are flying through it in a steady stream, carried by winds as solid as a wall. Where that wind blows, any alien ships still flying nearby are knocked clean out of the sky.

Down below on the roof, those winds are strong enough that Tony can barely keep his feet. He lowers his faceshield, hunches, and, when he glances around, he finds Cap and Thor doing the same, hands outstretched to protect their faces from the bits of shrapnel that shoot all over the place.

All at once, though, the winds just stop.

Well, they don't _stop_, exactly, but they seem to kind of bend around the rooftop, like they're deflecting off some sort of invisible dome.

Which, Tony's HUD oh-so-helpfully tells him, is exactly what's over their heads: a dome made of magical energy that stretches across the entire rooftop.

The shaking has eased off too, a little, but it hasn't stopped.

He slides the faceshield out of the way again, and takes another look around. Sees the dead soldiers by the fire escape where he'd left them. Sees Mephisto still over in the corner where he'd fallen. Sees more dead soldiers on the other side of the roof.

Thor and Cap are on either side of him, half a step behind, that's a comfort, and a shield over their heads acting as the only thing separating them from a giant destructive force threatening to rip them apart.

They're still standing, which at this point, is saying something.

Loki, meanwhile, ambles toward them like he's just walking through a patch of sunshine on a lazy afternoon.

He appears to be leading somebody along, some gray-skinned monster of a guy who's bigger and more muscular than Thor by a fair bit, bigger than the soldiers, too, but smaller than Hulk. Seems docile enough, though, and when Loki is close enough to Tony and company, Loki touches the monster's shoulder. The monster stops and stands, blank-faced, staring straight ahead with a couple of eyes that like black holes.

"Tell them who are," Loki says to him, all cool calm. "Tell them what you've done."

In a husked-out, flat voice, one that is just audible over the storm blowing around them, the monster says, "I am Thanos. I am the one responsible for setting this army loose on Earth."

Tony exchanges creeped-out looks with Thor and Cap, and then says, "Okay, uh. That's – interesting. Why is he _here,_ Loki?"

An absent smile, distant and fleeting, and Loki says, "I brought him here to watch me dismantle his army and take it for my own. I wanted him to witness me doing what he could not: namely, to take control of this planet.

"To rule it, as I was meant to."

It's all Tony can do not to roll his eyes.

Because, yeah, that figures.  
xXx

"Again with this, Loki?" Thor asks. He sounds as exasperated and annoyed as Tony feels. "Did you learn nothing from your last defeat?"

"Really," Tony says. "And, by the way, what happened to 'I don't want to rule anymore'?"

"That was before I acquired the means to make it possible for me to rule," Loki replies implacably. Like it's no big deal. "And, yes, Thor, I learned a great deal from my last defeat. I learned, for example, to stay away from green monsters. Who, I should add, I did not see with you. Has the beast fallen?"

"No," Cap says. "We lost him somewhere, but he's not dead."

Wintry green eyes cut over to Steve's face, observe it for a long moment. There's a twitch of dark eyebrows, and Loki says, "You're lying. You don't actually know that, do you?"

"I _believe _it." Steve's chin goes up. "He's not dead."

Loki's smirk knifes sideways as he takes a step closer. "You want to believe it," he says. "But in your heart of hearts, I don't believe you do. Deep down, you fear you've lost him, and it's eating at you."

"Hey!" Tony says, stepping between the two. "Not to interrupt your little head games here, but were you gonna do something about that tear? Because I think I speak for all of us when I say I'd really rather not get ripped apart here."

"There is no need for theatrics, Stark," Loki says. "We have time yet."

But as if to give lie to those words, the tear _booms_ again and the tendril-things lash out in a dozen directions like they're reaching out for something. Two of them hit the dome, but are deflected. The tear widens even more.

If he's at all concerned by this, Loki sure doesn't show it. Still looking at Tony, he says, "It was always my intention to return to seal these. I have no more wish than you to see the universe destroyed."

"Then seal them already," Tony snaps.

Loki's mouth thins, but he doesn't answer.

Instead, he turns away and raises his hands to the sky.

Nothing happens at first.

Just as Tony's getting ready to point that out, though, he notices that instead of things coming out of the tear, things – ships, smoke, debris, animals, anything nearby – start getting sucked into it, a whole long line of them, things being pulled along like liquid being pulled through a straw.

The building's shaking become less pronounced, less apt to rattle fillings out of teeth.

After a few seconds, Loki lowers his hands and returns his attention to the three men in front of him. "Before I seal this, I will draw away as much of this as I can. Above and below. If I'm to rule this world, I would prefer there is something left _to_ rule."

Steve shakes his head. "Where are you sending it all?"

"The soldiers I am sending to a place where I will keep them until I am prepared to make my move. The rest..." Loki makes an elegant, rippling shrug as he turns away. "Away from here. That is all that matters."

"Well, thanks, I guess," Steve says. "But you know we're not just going to let you walk in here and take over, don't you?"

Thor shifts and says, "This is madness, Loki."

"This is _purpose_, Thor."

"_Purpose?_ Taking what is not yours to take is purpose?"

"Taking what I have the power to take and making it mine, yes." Eyes like a couple of barren snow fields lock onto Cap's. "Oppose me if you wish, but know that if you choose to do so, I will destroy you."

"And me?" Thor says. "Your own brother?"

Loki lifts a hand and makes a quick, cutting gesture.

Tony feels an invisible hand push him down to his knees. Sees, out of the corner of his eye, that everyone else – including Thanos – has been forced down.

"You will kneel," Loki says, "or you will die."

xXx

The Eye, Tony suddenly realizes.

Everything changed with Loki the second he picked up that fucking Eye – like it started controlling him somehow.

That has to be it.

When Tony puts his hands on the ground and pushes up, he finds he's not being held down. He stands, and, with Loki's cold eyes trained on him, takes a step forward.

Placing himself between the others and Loki, ready to fall on that wire again.

There's got to be some way, somehow, to bust through whatever's going on in that crazy fucking head – has to be something that Eye thing is doing – got to be something in there, some little kernel of rationality he can reach.

Because if he can reach Loki, maybe he can stop all this before it gets out of hand.

Maybe he can get the tears closed.

Got nothing to lose at this point.

"So tell me something, Reindeer games," Tony says, hoping like hell he doesn't sound as desperate as he feels. "You have this power now. You're stronger than you were. Sure healed up in no time after you got cut to hamburger earlier – which, you're welcome, by the way. Those scars on your wrists, did they finally heal up?"

Narrowed eyes studying him. After a beat, Loki shakes his head. "I still have them."

"Huh. Interesting." Tony cross his arms, grateful suddenly for his suit's protection. Pretty beat up, but that's nothing new. Story of his life. "Okay, so I'm confused. Maybe I'm not remembering right, but, uh, I think I am. Do you remember a little conversation you and I had about dreams not too long ago? This morning, as a matter of fact."

Again, that surreality hits him: had that really been this morning? Had it?

Wariness in Loki's expression now, which Tony takes as a small maybe-sign of progress. "I remember," Loki finally says. "What about it?'

"You said you killed everybody," Tony says. "That was how you won, right? You killed us all and you burned everything down. And, uh, hey, correct me if I'm wrong here, but I think I remember you saying you didn't want things that way. Matter of fact, you seemed pretty freaked out by the whole idea. And by the scars. Remember?"

But Loki shakes his head. "This isn't like those dreams, Stark."

"Really? You just threatened to kill us all if we didn't do what you say. You know we're not going to, which means you're going to end up killing us. So how exactly is that different?"

"The difference is that I will not kill or destroy what I do not have to."

"You're going to have to," Tony says quietly. "So tell me how that's any different."

_Come on, Loki, dammit_, _I know you're in there_.

After a long silence, Loki frowns. It's low cloud crossing the sun. "I gloried in your deaths," he finally says, and his voice has gone very quiet. "In the dreams."

"But you wouldn't. Not really. Is that right?"

_Gotcha_.

"No, but that would not stop me. If I could not convince anyone who opposed me to join me, then, yes, I would kill them."

"Even me?"

Tony's expecting the answer to be 'yes, even you.' No hesitation.

What he's not expecting is another pause, a speculative look, narrowed eyes, and another frown. What he's not expecting is Loki to say, "Actually, Stark, what I would prefer for you is to have you at my side. Ruling with me."

"...excuse me?"

xXx

Loki's expression thaws, something less cold flickering in his eyes, something amused and meant just for Tony. His smile has fewer edges. "You heard me," he says. "I have the means and desire to rule this world, to stop all the senseless fighting, to move it forward, and I want you there with me."

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen." Tony chuckles. "Not that I'm not flattered. But why the hell would you want me, anyway? I'm not exactly qualified to run my own life, let alone rule a world."

"You have greatness in you, Stark," Loki says, his voice becoming quiet again. All the earlier coldness has gone from his eyes now. "More than I think you realize."

They don't have time for this, not with the tear still snap-crackling overhead, but Tony is, at his core, still the same narcissist he's always been, so he can't quite help asking, "I do?"

"Oh, yes," Loki says, suddenly all earnest sincerity, "you do. You're a creator, a builder, a seeker of knowledge. But more than that, you _understand_. You see the world in ways few do, and you're able to translate what you see into the actual, the tangible.

"People are drawn to you because of that, because you have that spark, that vision. They follow you because of that. You were meant to rule just as much as I.

"Tony," Steve cuts in just then, "don't listen to this-"

Loki makes a quick cutting gesture, and Steve is silenced.

Tony swallows.

"The only problem, Stark," Loki continues, "is that you fear what others-" he glances pointedly at Steve and Thor "-think of you so much that you limit yourself to doing what you believe will earn their approval. Your so-called 'greater good.' All you're doing is trying to avoid their judgment. Why do you think you spend so much time avoiding them?

"Imagine what you could do for the world, what you could build, what genuine good you could do, without all those limitations and obstacles in your path, without all those hands to hold you back or steal from you, without all those voices there to place doubts in your mind. Imagine what you could accomplish with access to unlimited resources, unlimited knowledge. Imagine what you could discover, what new insights you could bring.

"Imagine what it would be like if you could stop trying to avoid being judged for being what you're _not_, if you were allowed to simply be who you are – nothing more, and nothing less.

"It is entirely possible for you to have all of this," Loki says. "All you have to do is let go of these trivial mortal concerns, and stand with me – as you are. Lead with me. Become who you have it in you to be."

With a great deal of effort, Tony looks away, blinking.

Clears his throat. Says, harshly, "So, what, I just give you my soul in exchange for all the knowledge in the universe?"

Loki huffs a quiet laugh. "Hardly," he says. "This is no exchange. I am offering you a place at my side. Only that. It is up to you to decide what you will and will not take for your own."

"You make it sound so idyllic," Tony says. "Taking things isn't like that."

"True, but few things worth having, worth creating, come easily. Sometimes, in order to promote progress, you must do some damage first."

"Damage. You're talking about killing."

"As a last resort, and if it comes down to that, yes. If you wished," Loki adds, "I could see to it you were spared that part. You needn't get any more blood on your hands."

Tony shakes his head. "You're serious about this."

"I am, yes. I am meant to rule, Stark. And so are you."

The rational part of Tony's mind knows that this is just more mindgames. It's a bag of half-truths and distorted realities all designed to try to manipulate Tony into coming around to his way of looking at things.

It's a distorted picture, sure, but it's distorted in such a way that makes it sound so reasonably, so perfectly tempting. It's distorted in such a way that honestly makes something inside Tony just _ache_ with the desire to let go and follow Loki down this path: forget about the crap going on with his company, to just be able to bring the world his technology without all the hassle and red tape, to not have to worry about rival CEOs gunning for him, to not have to listen to people question and second-guess him or try to set him up or to undermine him ever again.

To not be alone.

_As you are._

The real hell of it is, it's nothing he himself hasn't imagined before.

_You have greatness in you_.

And all he'd have to do is just let go of all the things he already wishes he could.

xXx

Thing is, Loki still has the Eye, and that fucking tear still isn't closed.

And the city is still burning.

And people are still getting massacred below.

And maybe, just maybe, this is the way to stop it.

xXx

So Tony, not letting himself look at Steve or Thor, focuses on Loki (and it is Loki in there after all, he's pretty sure of that), and says, "Couple things: you have to close all those tears before we do anything else. There's no point in any of this if you don't stop that thing from collapsing. Second thing is, I want to find Hulk and Tasha. Fury, to. Either they're dead or somebody took them. I want to find out who did it. They're gonna pay. After that, well, guess the sky's the limit."

Loki, god of mischief and lies, studies Tony with bright green eyes.

Searching, no doubt, for the truth.

"So," he says after a moment, uncertainty in his voice, "you're saying...?"

"I'm saying I'm tired of having my legs cut out from under me every time I stand up," Tony says. "I'm tired of losing. I'm tired of being held back. I just want a chance to do my thing, you know. I'm saying if you want me, you got me. I'm also saying if you're bullshitting me in any way, I will find some way to kill you."

Moment of truth here.

But Tony's not worried: right now, right this second, he means it. Every word of it.

That's just the kind of day it's been.

And Loki's smile is one full of cool victory. "My only condition is this," he says. "If you betray me, I will find the tallest building I can and throw you off of it."

"Fair enough," Tony says.

xXx

So the deal is done.

Sealed with a kiss, even.

Right there, right out in front of Steve and Thor, Loki kisses him, easy and languid, like they have all the time in the world, like the ground isn't still shaking, like the wind isn't howling, like there's no smoke choking the air.

Something warm flares in Tony, like a light touch inside somewhere, but it's gone before he really has a chance to think too much about it.

xXx

Tony's the first one to pull away, to back off. He doesn't even twitch Steve or Thor's way when he says, "The tears?"

Loki, somehow still looking regal in his less-than-pristine armor and tattered cape and dented helmet, nods. "The tears first. You needn't be worried, you know. They have been neutralized since I reversed them."

"Yeah, they still make me nervous." Those whipping white tendrils have grown to two or three times their original length.

An indulgent smile, tinged with something like affection.

It's actually, Tony thinks, kind of a nice smile.

Loki pulls out the Eye and walks over to the side of the building. As Tony looks on from over his shoulder, the tears on the ground – which, like the tear in the sky, had gotten massively big and had been pulling soldiers and debris and smoke into them – close down and disappear.

That done, Loki turns and raises the Eye.

A line of brilliant white energy connects between it and the tear.

xXx

And all hell breaks loose.

xXx

The thing is, Tony never bothered to check and see if Mephisto was dead.

Oh, he'd had a front-row view for Loki's last energy blast catching Mephisto full in the chest, that's for sure, but once Mephisto had hit the ground, Tony forgot all about him.

Tony'd had looked over and had seen Loki's mangled, shot-up body lying on one side of the roof, blood pouring out of what had to be a hundred little holes. After that, he hadn't really stopped to think of anything other than finding the Eye. Because, naïve idiot that he was, he knew, somehow, that if he could just get Loki the Eye, things would be okay.

So, no, he never bothered with Mephisto after that.

xXx

Mephisto wasn't dead.

If Tony had known that, he probably would have done things a lot differently.

xXx

Like a lot of things that day, Tony doesn't really see what happens; like everybody else, he has to piece it together from the various things they tell him later.

What he knows is he's standing back near the still-kneeling Cap and Thor when it goes down, and he's watching with no small amount of relief as Loki finally deals with the tear. He's thinking about nothing in particular, not really even – as he probably should be, and very soon will be – about how or when to get that Eye away from Loki. He's mostly just glad that the heavy-duty rocking and rolling old Mother Earth is doing starts to subside, and that he's happy to see those big white tendril thingies are snapping and crackling back inside the tear instead of out int the sky.

When the shit goes down, it goes down fast.

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, but before he can turn to focus in on it, something tackles him from behind and drags him down to the rooftop.

Cursing, furious, he fights his way clear of the weight – Steve's, the thinks – pinning him down, at least enough so he can lift his head.

He looks around, but doesn't see Loki anywhere.

"The tear!" Cap says from behind him. "They're in the tear!"

And sure enough, both Mephisto and Loki have somehow gotten up into the tear.

They're both caught_:_ each wrapped up in one of those whip-like tendrils.

In the blink of an eye, Mephisto is consumed: his red body beginning to glow like it's being lit by a thousand fluorescent lightbulbs, and then being pulled and stretched until, at last, it snaps and is consumed by the tendril itself.

Loki, still holding the Eye, is struggling against the tendril holding him.

And maybe Tony's going crazy, maybe he's completely nuts, but in that horrible instant before Loki begins to glow the way Mephisto had, he swears he hears the tear itself sigh the word _"Bringer."_

Then Loki screams a broken scream like his bones are melting, like he's being ripped apart a tiny piece at a time, like he's dying by inches.

He _screams,_ and the sound rolls and echoes across the distance.

The white consumes Loki, too, draws him in, makes him part of it.

Something deep inside of Tony grows hot enough to burn, but then, as the tear closes down around Loki like some enormous mouth swallowing him whole, it goes cold.

Very cold.

xXx

There's an explosion, a thundering concussive blast that shakes the ground one more time, some dying animal's last frustrated howl.

And then there's silence.

Deep, complete silence.

xXx

Tony is the first to stand.

Ignoring the others behind him, he walks to the parapet and looks up into the sky.

Nothing left of that big tear but a few residual white sparks, tiny and insignificant and soundless.

The rooftop is blessedly still beneath his feet.

It's done. The tear is closed. Mephisto is gone. Loki is gone. And, hell, they even have Thanos.

Tony knows he should feel glad about that, or at least relieved, but all he feels as he stares up into that void is sore and tired and cold and hollow.

This isn't anything like victory, not really.

Sighing, he looks away, looks down into the burning abyss below.

The air is a lot clearer now thanks to a relative lack of smoke and things flying through it, but it's still hard to see much through the choking, orange-kissed haze. What he can see tells him that this once-mighty city, this beacon of light for so many for so long, has been all but wiped off the map. All the buildings nearby have been shaken down into so many mountainous piles of rubble. And he has no doubt that once daylight begins to filter through, it'll reveal the same everywhere.

Like so many other things today, New York City is gone.

And the hell of it is, the sheer, utter hell of it is that they aren't even _done_.

Off to the east, far off, there are still pockets of explosions like flashes of lightening, no doubt from the part of the alien army that managed to avoid getting pulled back into the tears.

"Hey," a voice says at his shoulder. "You okay?"

Tony turns his back on it all, and sees, as he does that both Steve and Thor have moved up to join him.

They're both watching him like they expect him to turn and dive off the building.

He shakes his head. "I'm fine, guys," he says. "Are you?"

"I am well," Thor says carefully as Steve says, "I'm all right."

Silence, leaden and awkward, falls between them. Tony knows why, but he's too tired to bother breaking it himself. Just stands there in the tense quiet looking back and forth between his two friends here – they are his friends, no matter what – and finally, tired of waiting for one of them to say something, he says, flatly, "It was just so he'd think I was on his side. So he'd close the tears. If I'd known Mephisto was gonna take care of him for us, I wouldn't have bothered."

It's Steve he really say this to, Captain America, old Red, White, and Blue, whose fatigue-ringed eyes are filled with the need to believe, the need to hope. And it's Steve whose weary smile widens with something like relief. "I thought that's what you were doing."

Tony glances over at Thor. Finds Thor's expression closed, unreadable.

Not surprising: Tony's really not sure he bought it, either.

Still, the big guy says nothing, and Tony blesses him for that.

Not the time, or the place.

"So what now, Cap?" Tony asks.

Steve says, quietly, "We should go help out down below first. Take care of those soldiers. And after that we need to find Bruce and Tasha. Fury, too." He nods at the still-kneeling Thanos, grimaces, and adds, "And we need to deal with _him_."

"I can have him escorted to Asgard, if you wish," Thor offers. "We have a place we can hold him."

Tony and Steve exchange looks. Steve shrugs, fractionally, and Tony says, "Do that, big guy." He would much rather kill the bastard and be done with it, but he knows better than to say so: Steve would never go for it. If nothing else, he'll be off Earth for the time being. "We'll probably have to bring him down here to stand trial or face justice or something when all is said and done, but that'll work for now."

"Thank you," Steve says. He clears his throat. "Thanks for coming, Thor. I mean that."

"Do not thank me yet, my friend. We have much left to do."

"I know," Cap says. "But, still..." He takes a breath like he's going to say something else. Apologize, maybe.

Thor, smiling, drops a meaty hand on his shoulder. "Thank me when we are finished."

"Good idea," Tony says.

There will be time for fatigue and grief later. There will be time to stop and rest later. There will be time to sift through the mountains of confusion later. For now, there's the last of an army to stop and missing friends to find and a city to start digging out.

Iron Man lowers his mask, glances back at Thor and Captain America, and says, "So let's get to work, huh?"

THE END

(30 May 2012 – 22 August 2012)

xXx

_Dust devil swept you away  
__It's still not real  
__Ash and urn and silence  
__Talk to me  
_-Puscifer, "Horizon"

A/N: The sequel is called "To Defy the Stars." Thank you all so much for reading. And thank you all for the comments and reviews and stuff you left the first time I posted this!


End file.
